'You had better not,' said Charles. 'She don't love you. When I mention your name her face turns green. She'd ill-wish you if she could.'
'I have never done her an injury,' said Honor.
'That may be. Hate is like love, it pitches at random, as Mrs. Veale says. You may laugh, Honor, but that same woman is in love with me.'
'Nonsense!' Honor did not laugh, she was too shocked to laugh.
'What is there nonsensical in that? I tell you she is. She cooks me better food than for the rest of the men, and she favours me in many ways.'
'She cannot be such a fool.'
'There is no folly in fancying me,' said Charles, sharply. 'I have good looks, have seen the world, and compare with the louts here as wheat with rye. Many a woman has lost her heart to a younger man than herself.'
'Charles, you must be plain and rough with her if this be so—though I can scarce believe it.'
'No one forces you to believe it. But don't you think I'm going to make Mrs. Veale your sister-in-law. I'm too wide-awake for that. She is ugly, and—she's a bad un. Yes,' musingly, 'she is a bad un.'
Then he worked his heel more vigorously in the hole. 'Take care what you are about, Charles, you are breaking the slate, and making what was bad, worse.'