Accordingly, when the van had been consigned to its shed and the curtains removed to her room, Zita knitted her fingers behind her back and surveyed her goods, moving from one group of wares to another.
After some consideration, she descended the stairs and prepared to leave the house.
Mrs. Tunkiss peered out of the kitchen as she heard her step, and said—
'Going to meet the master—be you?'
A malevolent smile was on her face.
'No, Mrs. Tunkiss. I do not know in which direction he has ridden.'
'You'd like to know, would you? You'd go and meet him, and he'd jump off his horse and walk alongside of you, and say soft things. Oh my! The master! Ki Drownlands say soft things!'
The woman burst into a cackling laugh.
'What do you mean?' asked Zita, reddening with anger at the insult implied in the woman's words.
'Oh, miss, I mean nothing to offend. But I'd like to know what the master will say to your carawaning about with Mark Runham—what the master will say to your receiving visits from young men in the poultry-house.'