“Mr. Bumpett at Abergavenny. I hear him getting out of the cart.”
The girl of fourteen stood open-mouthed; a visitor was a more amusing thing than cleaning china, and the water ran unheeded off her fingers on to the clean sand of the floor.
“Go you out o’ this, girl,” cried Nannie, pouncing upon her and snatching up the basin, “don’t you be gaping there an’ the water slitherin’ down! Be off, an’ take some o’ they pots along wi’ you, if you don’t want a tiert slap on your long ears.”
The girl fled with as many of the jugs as she could carry.
Bumpett stood in the doorway trying to construct his expression into one which might find favour with the opposite sex.
“Good-morning,” said Mrs. Walters in her cold voice, pointing to a chair.
There was a slight movement of garments in the passage which showed that Nannie was listening outside. The Pig-driver sat down with his hat on his knees; he had not supposed it would be so difficult to start his subject, and he cleared his throat loudly by way of giving himself confidence. His experience had led him to believe his address irresistible, but he knew that people had to be “taken the right way.”
“To be sure, this is a fine big place,” he began, glancing round the spacious kitchen, “a proud place. I’ll lay ye couldn’t have paid less nor the size o’ five pound ten for that dresser.”
“I am not selling my furniture,” said Mrs. Walters, inclining to think that the business must be some intended purchase.