"Perhaps," said Miss Ffrench, "I scarcely regarded it from that point of view."
Then she changed the subject.
"How is Mrs. Dixon?" she inquired.
"She's neyther better nor worse," was the answer, "an' a mort o' trouble."
"That is unfortunate. Who cares for her?"
"Mother. She's th' on'y one as can do owt wi' her."
"Is there no one else she has a fancy for—your father, for instance?" inquired Miss Ffrench.
"She conna bide th' soight o' him, an' he's feart to go nigh her. Th' ony man as she ivver looked at wur Murdoch," answered Janey.
"I think I remember his saying she had made friends with him. Is she as fond of him now?"
"I dunnot know as I could ca' it bein' fond on him. She is na fond o' nobody. But she says he's getten a bit more sense than th' common run."