"She's packed him off wi' a flea in his ear," said an elderly man standing near.
"Just like all the lave of them," said another, "snurling up her neb at a man for lack of gear. Why didna he brag of some rich uncle in Austrilly?"
"Ey, and stuff her with all sorts of flaitchment and lies. Then all the lasses wad be glyming at him."
The dance spun on.
"Why, it's a regular upshot, as good as Carel fair," said one of the girls.
"Bessie, you're reet clipt and heeled for sure," responded her companion.
Bessie's eyes sparkled with delight at the lusty compliment paid to her dancing, and she opened her cloak to cool herself, and also to show the glittering locket that hung about her neck.
"It's famish, this fashion," muttered the elderly cynic. "It must tak' a brave canny fortune."
"Shaf, man, the country's puzzen'd round with pride," answered his gossip. "Lasses worked in the old days. Now they never do a hand's turn but washin' and bleachin' and starchin' and curlin' their polls."
"Ey, ey, there's been na luck in the country since the women-folk began to think shame of their wark."