He did not look at her, nor did she at him as she replied—
“Very well, John. I’ll be glad when it’s a’ settled.”
She left the house at the hour the train was due, and took the road which led to White Farm and also to the mill, a couple of miles farther on.
Symington arrived at the cottage in a bad humour.
“What the devil do you keep on bothering me for?” he demanded the moment he was in the parlour. “I’m going ahead as quickly as I can. Do you want me to ruin the whole thing by rushing it.”
“No use in losing your temper,” said Corrie coldly. “It’s a fortnight past since ye started to get a hold o’ the girl. I want to ken what ye’ve been doing in London, besides enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t talk about enjoyment! I tell you I’ve been busy the whole time.”
“Well, what ha’ ye done?”
Symington took out a cigar. “Look here—what are you trying to drive me for? What’s at the back of this cry for haste?”
“There’s a chance o’ the postman getting better.”