“What did she say?” said Cook and Mary in a breath, for the recounter had stopped.
“Well, I didn’t catch it all,” said Edward, speaking in his mug; “but it was something like: ‘Gone with Mr Bray? Impossible!’”
“But what made her say that?” exclaimed Cook.
“Why, from what she read in a letter from London, to be sure, stupid. Why else should she say it?”
“There, didn’t I tell you so!” exclaimed Cook triumphantly.
“What are you up to now?” said Edward in a tone of gruff contempt. “What do you mean?”
“Why, I always thought she’d have Mr Bray, as was so wonderful attentive. Why, Mrs Pottles, down at the Seven Bells, has told me lots of times about how he used to come and put his horse up there, and then follow her about.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Edward. “When did you see Mother Pottles last?”
“Yesterday,” said Cook. “And she said she thought that Pottles would take the twenty pounds off the good-will, and—”
“Why didn’t you tell me so before?” said Edward gruffly.