"If I were the rightful owner, certainly; but now it is clearly impossible."
"Not quite impossible, Adèle, even so."
He waited for an answer, but she was unexpectedly silent, her eyes cast down.
"Not quite impossible, Adèle. If you will not stay for any other reason—tell me, Adèle, will you not stay for my sake?"
Still she made no answer, only looked up with a shy startled glance. But in that look Harry found courage to repeat his question.
* * * * *
"Never did I ply my fark at such a roaren dinner—never in my born days; I tells 'ee true, souls."
"Ay, I seed 'ee myself, Lumpy, a-scoopen chidlens an' plum-pudden an' furmenty into your thropple till I thowt 'ee'd bust. 'Twere noble eatin', to be sure."
"Ay, Soapy, an' cost a pretty penny, I warrant. Squire Harry be a different sart o' feller to old Squire as was. Never did he gi' us a warmen-up, nor never would, if there'd ha' bin farty weddens."
"Why bean't every day a marryen day? 'T'ould keep all our innards warm an' cosy 'ithout us doen a hand's turn."