Cope wagged his heavy head slowly. “I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Moon,” he remarked.
“I’ve now finished speech wi’ you,” said the merchant with a dark look.
And for reply to that, Cope spat into the empty hearth.
Cicely became aware of awkward silences in Sally’s presence and of mournful looks that passed behind her back, and these things filled her with a nameless trouble and apprehension. When Arthur returned to Horwick for his two days (for his spells over the moor were now doubled), her manner became wheedling and cajoling; and one night, putting her arms about him, she sought again to draw from him that which during the day he had refused to tell her.
“Where’s John Raikes gone?” she whispered in his ear.
“Isn’t he at home?”
“You know he isn’t. Where’s he gone, dear?”
“Hush, lassie; go to sleep.”
“Where’s he gone, dear?”
“Gathering turtle-feathers; you’ll wake Sally.”