“How do?” said the new-comer, shortly, and his hand went out in a slow, awkward, unwilling way, retiring afterwards from the hearty grasp it received in a very sharp manner, for thin effeminate hands, that do not return an honest pressure, fare badly in a manly grasp, especially if they happen to be half-covered with unnecessary rings.
“How do? Glad to see you,” said the young owner of the Foundry, though it was always more looked upon since his father’s death as the property of Mrs Glaire. “Find this rather dull place.”
“I don’t think I shall,” said the vicar, looking at him curiously.
“Very dull place,” said the young man. “Very. Come, Evey. You’ll call, I suppose?”
“Of course I shall,” said the vicar, smiling. “I mean to know everybody here.”
“Thanks, much,” said Mr Glaire, glancing at Daisy, who gave herself an angry twitch and turned away. He then drew Eve’s arm through his own, and, raising his hat slightly to the vicar, was turning away when his eye lit on the young workman. “Hallo you, Tom Podmore,” he cried, “how is it you’re not at work?”
“That’s my business,” growled the man. “I’ll tell you that when you ain’t got young missus there wi’ you, and I wean’t afore.”
Richard Glaire looked at the sturdy fellow uneasily, and directed a second glance at Daisy, his vacillating eyes resting for a moment on the pocketed double fists before repeating his words shortly—
“Come along, Evey.”
“Wait a moment, Dick, dear,” she said, disengaging her arm. “How rude you are!” she added in an undertone. “Good day, Mr Selwood, and thank you very much,” she said, ingenuously. “Pray come and see us soon. Aunt will be so glad to know you. She was talking about you last night, and wondering what you would be like. Good-bye.”