Steve. You’ll bide here, Annie, and ’tis more gladness than I can rightly think on, that ’tis.
Annie. Steve!
Steve. Well, Annie.
Annie. There’s summat what’s been clouding you a bit this night. You didn’t know as how I’d seen it, but ’twas so.
Steve. Why, Annie, I didn’t think as how you’d take notice as I was different from ordinary.
Annie. But I did, Steve. And at the dancing there was summat in the looks of you which put me in mind of a thing what’s hurted. Steve, I couldn’t abide for to see you stand so sad with the music going on and all. So I told you as I’d the headache.
Steve. O Annie, ’twas thoughts as was too heavy for me, and I couldn’t seem to get them pushed aside, like.
Annie. How’d it be if you was to tell me, Steve.
Steve. I don’t much care for to, Annie. But ’twas thoughts what comed out of the time gone by, as may be I’d been a bit too hard with—with her as was Dorry’s mother.
Annie. O, I’m sure, from all I hear, as she had nothing to grumble at, Steve.