“Say!” he broke out. “Ain't you going to shake hands with me?” He held his hand out impetuously. He knew he was all right if she'd shake hands.
“Theer's nowt agen that surely,” she answered, with a shrewd bit of a smile. She gave him her hand. “If I was na stiff in my legs, it's my place to get up an' mak' thee a curtsey, but th' rheumatics has no respect even for th' lord o' th' manor.”
“If you got up and made me a curtsey,” Tembarom said, “I should throw a fit. Say, Mrs. Hutchinson, I bet you know that as well as I do.”
The shrewd bit of a smile lighted her eyes as well as twinkled about her mouth.
“Sit thee doun,” she said again.
So he sat down and looked at her as straight as she looked at him.
“Tha 'd give a good bit,” she said presently, over her flashing needles, “to know how much Little Ann's tow'd me about thee.”
“I'd give a lot to know how much it'd be square to ask you to tell me about her,” he gave back to her, hesitating yet eager.
“What does tha mean by square?” she demanded.
“I mean `fair.' Can I talk to you about her at all? I promised I'd stick it out here and do as she said. She told me she wasn't going to write to me or let her father write. I've promised, and I'm not going to fall down when I've said a thing.”