"Yes," Murdoch answered.
She sat glowering at the fire a few moments almost bent double, and then, having deluded her audience into believing she had subsided, suddenly started and came to life again with increased vigor.
"I've getten my brass i' th' Manchester Savin's," she cried, "an' I'll keep it theer."
It seemed unnecessary to reply, and nobody made any remark upon this statement of facts. But the venerable matron had not concluded.
"I'll keep it theer!" she repeated—"keep it theer! I conna bide him, no more than I can bide her." And then she returned to her fire, fixing her great eyes upon it and mumbling with no small elation.
"Th' thing'll break now, for sure," commented her much-tried hostess, sardonically. "It conna stand up agen that, i' reason. Haworth ud better sell th' Works at th' start afore it's too late."
There had been some vague wonder in Murdoch's mind as to what the result of Haworth's outburst against himself would be.
The first time he found himself confronting him as he went to his work-room he spoke to him:
"You said once," he remarked, "that you had kept this room empty because you did not care to be at close quarters with every man. Now——"
"Get thee in, my lad," he interrupted, dryly. "It suits me well enow to ha' you nigh me. Never fear that."