The person in question was Haworth, who so far dispensed with ceremony as to walk up to the firelight without even knocking at the door, which stood open.
"Where's your father?" he demanded.
"He's takken hissen off to th' beer-house," said Janey, "as he allus does o' Saturday neet,—an' ivvery other neet too, as he gets th' chance."
A chair stood near and Haworth took it.
"I'll sit down and wait for him," he replied.
"Tha'lt ha' to wait a good bit then," said Miss Briarley. "He'll noan be whoam till midneet."
She stood in no awe of her visitor. She had heard him discussed too freely and too often. Of late years she had not unfrequently assisted in the discussions herself. She was familiar with his sins and short-comings and regarded him with due severity.
"He'll noan be whoam till midneet," she repeated as she seated herself on her stool.
But Haworth did not move. He was in a mysterious humor, it was plain. In a minute more his young companion began to stare at him with open eyes. She saw something in his face which bewildered her.
"He's getten more than's good fur him," she was about to decide shrewdly, when he leaned forward and touched her with the handle of the whip he held.