“No, nor care. Sit down, old girl: I want to talk to you.”
She obeyed, choosing the chair nearest to her, as though she had little intention of remaining long. “They tell me you’ve been settin’ the house by the ears again,” she remarked.
“My house, ain’t it? I’m going to get up."
“You’ll get up once too often one of these days, Adam.”
“You leave me to know what’s best for me! That wasn’t what I wanted you for. I’ve been hearing things about Bart.”
She did not speak, but he was watching her closely, and he thought that she stiffened.
“Oh!” he said dangerously. “So you know something, do you, Clara? Didn’t think to tell me, did you?”
“I don’t know anythin’ at all, Adam,” she replied. “It’s none of my business.”
““That girl, Loveday Trewithian!” he said, stabbing a finger at her. “What’s she up to? Come on, out with it!”
She rubbed the tip of her nose, leaving a smear on it from her grimy finger. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the gal.”