"Do you think he'd do it if I were to go up and ask him?" It was Alice
Cartaret's voice.
"I caann't say, Miss Cartaret, I'm sure."
"Could you persuade him yourself, Mrs. Blenkiron?"
"It wouldn't be a bit of good me persuadin' him. Jim Greatorex wouldn' boodge that mooch for me."
A pause. Alice was wavering, aware, no doubt, of the folly of her errand. Rowcliffe had only to lie low and she would go.
"Could Mr. Blenkiron?"
No. Rowcliffe in the surgery smiled all to himself as he warmed his hands. Alice was holding her ground. She was spinning out the time.
"Not he. Mr. Blenkiron's got soomat alse to do without trapseing after
Jim Greatorex."
"Oh."
Alice's voice was distant and defensive. He was sorry for Alice. She was not yet broken in to the north country manner, and her softness winced under these blows. There was nobody to tell her that Mrs. Blenkiron's manner was a criticism of her young kinsman, Jim Greatorex.