"Yes, I thought you were a gentleman," she said with a sudden rap of anger.
"I äun't that. I'm just a poor labouring man, wot loves you, and wot you love."
She tried to speak, but the words burnt up in her mouth.
"And a labouring man you love's worth more than a mäaster you döan't love, I reckon."
She shrank back on the sofa, folding her arms over her breast and gripping her shoulders.
"You needn't look so frightened. I'm only saying it. It wöan't mäake no difference—unless you want it to."
"How dare you speak to me like this?"
"Because I see you're justabout miserable, and I thought I'd say as how I'm beside you—only that."
"How—how d'you know I'm miserable?"
"Plain enough."