'Is your mother ill again?' asked Gabriel, arranging some sheets of paper on the table and changing the conversation.
'Oh, she's no better and no worse. But you'd better come and see her, so that folks won't be talking of my having spoken to you. A cat can't look at a jug in this town without they think she's after the cream.'
'You wish to speak with me, Bell?'
'Yes, I do; come and sit 'longside of me.'
Gabriel, being very much in love, obeyed with the greatest willingness, and when he sat down under the gas jet would have taken Bell in his arms, but that she evaded his clasp. 'There's no time for anything of that sort, my dear,' said she sharply; 'we've got to talk business, you and I, we have.'
'Business! About our engagement?'
'You've hit it, Gabriel; that's the business I wish to understand. How long is this sort of thing going on?'
'What sort of thing?'
'Now, don't pretend to misunderstand me,' cried Bell, with acerbity, 'or you and I shall fall out of the cart. What sort of thing indeed! Why, my engagement to you being kept secret; your pretending to visit mother when it's me you want; my being obliged to hide the ring you gave me from father's eyes; that's the sort of thing, Mr Gabriel Pendle.'
'I know it is a painful position, dearest, but—'