“There is a good deal of that,” admitted Tiddy candidly.
“Ah-h-h!”
Timothy pressed his thin lips, as if fearing that buzzing might escape from him. He shrugged his heavy shoulders, warped by constant toil in the fields, and remained silent. Just then his wife bustled in, a frail, spindling little woman with worried eyes. She greeted Cicely, so Tiddy noticed, with genuine affection, and offered instantly a cup of tea. Her obvious desire to ingratiate herself with the quality seemed pathetic to the young woman from the Midlands.
“Stop your noise, Nicky,” said Mrs. Farleigh sharply. “You knows better nor that.”
“Let ’un bide,” growled Timothy.
Nick stared and then grinned at Miss Tiddle, offering slyly his customary greeting to strangers.
“I be soft, I be.”
“Don’t ’ee take no notice of him, miss.”
Cicely talked on cheerfully about Agatha till it was time to go. Outside Tiddy said sharply:
“What is this grievance?”