"Don't call my father names. It does no good, Mrs. Merry."
"Beg pardon, miss, but it do relieve the heart and temper. And I will call him a leper, if that's a name, seeing as he'll never change his spots, however persuaded."
"What's the time?"
Mrs. Merry peered into the dial of a clock on the mantelpiece. "You might call it six, Miss Eva, and a lovely evening it is, though rain may spile it unexpected. Your pa 'ull be seated at the table in the next room at eight, let us hope, if nothing do happen to him, and I do pray on my bended knees, Miss Eva, as he won't growl at the meal, his habit allays when your poor dear ma--her ladyship was alive. Ah well," said Mrs. Merry with emphasis, "she's an angel now, and your pa ain't likely to trouble her again."
"Why, don't you think my father may come home? I mean, why do you fancy anything may happen to him?"
"Oh, I ain't got no cause, but what you might call the uncertainties of this vale of tears, Miss Eva. He have to drive ten mile here from the Westhaven station, and there's tramps about them lonely roads. Coming from South Africa, your pa 'ull naturally have diamonds to tempt the poor."
"I don't know what he has got," said Eva rather pettishly. "And no one, save you and me, know he is returning from Africa."
"No one, Miss Eva?" questioned the woman significantly.
Miss Strode coloured. "I told Mr. Hill."
"And he told his pa, and his pa, who have a long tongue, told all the village, I don't doubt. If ever there was a man as fiddled away his days in silliness," cried Merry, "it's that pink and white jelly-fish as you call Hills."