"And do you happen to know whether Mr. Bayley is coming to supper?"
"T' minister'll mebbe coom if t' weather hods up."
"Daffady—do you think—that when you don't agree with people about religion—it's right and proper to sit every night—and tear them to pieces?"
The colour had suddenly flooded her pale face—her attitude had thrown off languor.
Daffady showed embarrassment.
"Well, noa, missie—Aa doan't hod—mysen—wi personalities. Yo mun wrastle wi t' sin—an gaa saftly by t' sinner."
"Sin!" she said scornfully.
Daffady was quelled.
"I've allus thowt mysen," he said hastily, "as we'd a dëal to larn from Romanists i' soom ways. Noo, their noshun o' Purgatory—I daurna say a word for 't when t' minister's taakin, for there's noa warrant for 't i' Scriptur, as I can mek oot—bit I'll uphod yo, it's juist handy! Aa've often thowt so, i' my aan preachin. Heaven an hell are verra well for t' foak as are ower good, or ower bad; bit t' moast o' foak—are juist a mish-mash."
He shook his head slowly, and then ventured a glance at Miss Fountain to see whether he had appeased her.