“Favourite, indeed!” said Mrs Banks. “Joe, mark my words—It’ll come home to Daisy for jilting him as she’s done; and, as I told him to-night, he’s a great stupid ghipes to mind anything about the wicked, deceitful girl.”
“Here, have some more sausage, mother; it’s splendid; and don’t get running down your own flesh and blood.”
“Own flesh and blood!” cried Mrs Banks. “I’m ashamed of her.”
“No, you’re not, lass,” said Joe, with a broad grin. “Thou’rt as proud of her as a she peacock wi’ two tails. Now, lookye here, lass; you’ve took quite on that Daisy should have Tom. Well, he’s a decent young fellow enew, and if she’d liked him I should ha’ said nowt against it, but then she didn’t.”
“She don’t know her own mind,” said Mrs Banks.
“Oh yes, she do,” said Joe, smiling, “quite well; and so does some one else. The Missus has fun’ it out.”
“Mrs Glaire?”
“Yes, the Missus. She sent for me to-day to speak to me about it.”
“What, about her boy coming after our Daisy?”
“About Mr Richard Glaire, maister o’ Doomford Foundry, taking a fancy to, and having matrimonial projects with regard to his foreman’s daughter,” said Joe, pompously.