“How do you think the old boiler became cracked?” He was taken aback; his muddled brain did not quite comprehend the situation, but at last he managed to stammer out that he did not know, and Mrs. Furze retired.
Jim was very slow in arranging his thoughts, especially after a sudden surprise. A shock, or a quick intellectual movement on the part of anybody in contact with him, paralysed him, and he recovered and extended himself very gradually. Presently, however, his wits returned, and he concluded that the pretext of the shop and business mismanagement was but very partially the cause of Mrs. Furze’s advances. He knew that although Mr. Furze was restive under Tom’s superior capacity, there was no doubt whatever of his honesty and ability. Besides, if it was business, why did the mistress interfere? Why did she thrust herself upon him?—“coming down ’ere a purpose,” thought Mr. Orkid Jim. “No, no, it ain’t business,” and, delighted with his discovery so far, and with the conscious exercise of mental power, he smote the bricks with more vigour than ever.
“Good-bye, Phœbe,” said Catharine, looking in at the door.
“Good-bye, Miss,” said Phœbe, running out; “hope you’ll enjoy yourself: I wish I were going with you.”
“Where is she a-goin’?” asked Jim, when Phœbe returned.
“Chapel Farm.”
“Oh, is she? Wot, goin’ there agin! She’s oftener there than here. Not much love lost ’twixt her and the missus, is there?”
Phœbe was uncommunicative, and went on with her work.
“I say, Phœbe, has Catchpole been up here lately?”
“Why do you want to know? What is it to you?”