Jack Henderson's honest face flushed with indignation.
'The villain—the cursed villain! I see what he is driving at, but I will be quits with him.'
Bryda grew calm as Jack waxed more and more vehement, and his loud voice attracted the passers-by.
'Hush, Jack, people are staring at you! Do you suppose I would be bought like that? No! What would Bet say? I would sooner die than strike a bargain like that!'
'I'd sooner see you dead,' Jack replied.
Bryda was afraid to say more that would rouse Jack's wrath, so she asked him to be sure to let her hear any news of home.
'I sha'n't hear any news. No one ever writes to me. When the farm produce comes in once a month on market days the old carter asks if I am in good health—with the missus' love—that's about all.'
'I am writing to Bet, little bits every day. I have got an ink-pot and a quill pen up in the garret, and Mr Chatterton gave me some paper from the office, but I don't think that is quite honest, so please buy me a little. I can give you a shilling,' she said, putting her hand in the large pocket which was fastened to her waist under the short skirt.
Jack pushed her hand away.
'I don't want your shilling,' he said.