“See? No! See what?”
“He—he—he! And you women pretend to be so sharp about these things. What does he go there gardening for?”
“Why, goodness gracious me, Mr Gemp, you don’t think—”
“Think? Why, I’m sure of it. I see a deal of what’s going on, Mrs Pinet. I never look for it, but it comes. Why, he’s always there. He helps Luttrell when he’s at home; and old mother Luttrell talks to him about her jam. That’s his artfulness; he isn’t too young for that. Gets the old girl on his side.”
“But do you really think—Why, she’s never had a sweetheart yet.”
“That we know of, Mrs P.,” said Gemp, with a meaning look.
“She never has had,” said Mrs Pinet emphatically, “or we should have known. Well, she’s very handsome, and very nice, and I hope they’ll be very happy. But do you really think it’s true?”
“True? Why, he’s always there of an evening, tootling on the flute and singing.”
“Oh, but that’s nothing; Mr Hallam goes there too, and has some music.”
“Ay, but Hallam don’t go out with her picking flowers, and botalising. I’ve often seen ’em come home together with arms full o’ rubbish; and one day, what do you think?”