"Bless me, very well, hum, hah!" He looked through the references, he made notes on a piece of paper. "Please settle with this lady, Bletsoe, and give her, her out of pockets as according to arrangement—a—hem!"
And so the fate of the lady with the moustache was sealed, though she knew it not.
Betty had heard of this reception that Sir Josiah was holding to-day. Girls from Little Stretton, Bush Corner, and even from Gadsover and Lindney, had come to offer themselves for hiring. Betty hesitated, since that evening when she had defied her Grandmother life had not been very happy at Mrs. Hanson's little cottage. Should she go with the rest and offer herself for service in the house? But could she bear it, could she bear to see her own beloved garden again as it was now, not as she remembered it? All the dear trees cut down, or most of them, and hideous new walls put up, and her little stone friend gone from the lake and a great ugly stone fountain erected in her place, for so she had heard. Could she bear to see it all as it was now?
No, she could not, so she hesitated. The other girls went and were engaged or not, as Sir Josiah decided, but Betty did not offer herself.
For three days after that night when she had struck Abram Lestwick in the face, she did not see him, but on the evening of the fourth day he presented himself at the door of her grandmother's cottage.
He said nothing of that last interview. His manner was nervous and hesitating and without passion, his fingers worked incessantly, toying and tearing at everything within his reach. He sat upright on a horsehair-covered chair, and tore little hairs out of the cloth all the evening. At a quarter to ten he rose and took his hat.
"I'll be wishing you good night, Mrs. Hanson, ma'am!" he said.
"Good night, Abram, and always glad to see you," said Mrs. Hanson heartily.
"I thank you, Ma'am, good night, Betty!" he said.
"Go to the door, my maid, and see Abram off the step," said her grandmother.