"They saw her at the house. She seemed to be catching flies or something at the window. I gather you don't like her husband."
"I've nothing against him, 'cept his name and furren nature. My missus told her she was cutting a rod for her own back."
"Surely he doesn't beat her?"
"That wasn't her meaning. Rod's his name, and the missus do have a way of taking up a word and twisting of it about, you may say. 'A rod in pickle,' says she. 'Tis just a clappering tongue; there's no sense in it. But it do seem as Molly have turned her back on all her old friends. 'Tis like this: they furriners bain't favourites in the parish, and Molly sticks to her husband, as 'tis her duty. That's what I make of it."
"Well, I dare say she chose the pick of the bunch. How many are there of them, by the bye?"
"Four, leaving out the secretary. They don't go about in the village much. None of 'em comes here 'cept that feller you saw t'other day, and he don't come often. I don't get no good of 'em. 'Twas different in the old days."
"Things will take a turn," said Pratt, consolingly. "When my--when Mr. Pratt returns I dare say he'll quarrel with the foreigners, and get English servants again."
"And be ye all right on the island, sir?"
"Having a ripping time. We're always on the look-out for the ghost, but he seems rather shy. I can sympathise with him, being so bashful myself."
"You do seem to have a bit of a bump one side of the head, sir. No inseck have been poisoning 'ee, I hope."