"Lack of practice, my dear boy. Sabina, being a woman of observation and intelligence, is no doubt aware of the fact that she is unusually personable. But she has brains and knows exactly what importance to attach to such an accident. If you want to learn what spinning means, she will be able to teach you."
"Every cloud has a silver lining, apparently," said Raymond, and when
Sabina returned, Ernest introduced him.
The girl was clad in black with a white apron. She wore no cap.
"This is Mr. Raymond Ironsyde, Sabina, and he's coming to learn all about the Mill before long."
Raymond began to rattle away and Sabina, without self-consciousness, listened to him, laughed at his jests and answered his questions.
Mr. Churchouse gazed at them benevolently through his glasses. He came unconsciously under the influence of their joy of life.
Their conversation also pleased him, for it struck a right note—the note which he considered was seemly between employer and employed. He did not know that youth always modifies its tone in the presence of age, and that those of ripe years never hear the real truth concerning the opinions of the younger generation.
When Raymond left for home and Mr. Churchouse walked out to the gate with him, Sabina peeped out of the kitchen window which commanded the entrance, and her face was lighted with very genuine animation and interest.
Mrs. Dinnett returned at midnight tearful, for the ancient woman at
Chilcombe had died in her arms—"at five after five," as she said.
Mary Dinnett was an excitable and pessimistic person. She always leapt to meet trouble half way and invariably lost her nerve upon the least opportunity to do so. The peace of 'The Magnolias' had long offered her a fitting sanctum, for here life moved with the utmost simplicity and regularity; but, though as old as he was, Mary looked ahead to the time when Mr. Churchouse might fall, and could always win an ample misery from the reflection that she must then be at the mercy of an unfriendly world.