Anne was not without curiosity.
“What do you know against him?” she asked, after a pause.
“He’s a soft one, is Williams; but I know ’im. It’s ‘yes, mum’ here and ‘yes, mum’ there up this way, but down at Llangarth ’tis another story. Rollin’ about at fairs with a hussy that’s no better than she should be. I can’t do wi’ they mealy-mouthed chaps; they’ve always got the devil’s tail tucked away somewhere in their breeches.”
Mrs. Walter’s face darkened. Nannie went on, encouraged.
“As proud as Punch he was, too. An’ she goin’ about without shame, holding his arm like the gentry.”
“Who told you this?”
It was on the tip of Nannie’s tongue to say, “The Pig-driver,” but she suddenly bethought her of the one occasion on which he had come to the farm. She had hovered about at the kitchen-door that day and had heard the scene enacted inside it. She knew very well that her mistress had but scant respect for James Bumpett.
Anne repeated her question.
“Oh, I heard in Crishowell about his goings-on. Fine talk he’s made there, an’ no mistake.”
“You are much too fond of gossip,” said Mrs. Walters judicially.