“No—they needn’t hope that,” he answered. “I’ve seen too much of woman since I came here ever to want one for my own.”
So the breeze subsided and Henry filled his empty boiler, growling himself back to his usual calm the while. It was characteristic of him that between these dynamic discharges, he preserved an amiable attitude to those among whom he worked, and when a storm had passed, he instantly resumed friendly relations.
Within an hour of this scene, when dinner time came, he descended to the ground floor and cautioned two girls who were skipping off down a flight of steps that led from the rag house to the ground below.
“Don’t you go so fast,” he said. “When slate steps are wet with rain, they’re beastly slippery, and some day one of you maidens will fall and break yourselves.”
Mrs. Trivett put on her old black bonnet, for she was going out to dinner with another woman; but as she prepared to depart, her son-in-law met her.
“It’s important,” he said. “I want half an hour with you, mother, and I dare say Mrs. Ford won’t mind if you go along with her to-morrow instead.”
Mrs. Ford made no difficulty and Lydia returned to the rag house with Ned, who brought his meal with him.
“I’ve got a tid-bit for you here,” he explained. “A bit of jugged hare which you’ll like. And I wouldn’t trouble you but for a very good reason.”
They sat in a corner among some rag bales, beyond earshot of others who were eating their meal in the rag house.
“Where’s Medora?” asked Mrs. Trivett.