“Do please come and have a glass of cider. Tom thinks the world of you, Philander.”
“That’s better. If you say ‘come,’ then of course I’ll come. But don’t let there be any false pretences about it. We’ve all got to pretend a lot in this world; but I ain’t going to pretend nothing about Tom Dolbear. I don’t visit at Priory Farm for his company, but for yours; and, if God wills, I’ll get you out of it sooner or later, Lydia.”
“He don’t suspect nothing like that,” she said.
“He does not—that’s certain, else he wouldn’t offer me his cider or anything else. But a time is at hand when he’ll have to face it—and his wife also. Most women would have seen through it by now; but she’s always asleep, or half asleep, while you do her work.”
“Poor Mary,” said Mrs. Trivett.
“Her doom is coming near I hope and trust,” he answered. “You’re not doing right at all in standing between that woman and her duty. You come to me, and then she’ll find that she’s only got time to sleep eight hours in the twenty-four; and she’ll also find the meaning of a family.”
They proceeded together and Knox presently smoked a pipe with Tom; but he seemed not as amiable as usual and contradicted the farmer’s opinion flatly on more than one occasion.
Mr. Dolbear, however, thought very highly of the vatman and doubted not that Mr. Knox was right.
“I learn from you,” he said.