"And the papers, m'm?"
"No, no. Give me the papers or leave them there on the table."
Violet took the books. The newspapers lay among the jars and baskets. Mary resolutely continued her bottling. She did not want to see what David had to say in the Northern Clarion. She did not care what he said, not she! She had other things to think about than a mid-summer madness.
Recklessly she splashed the juice of damsons on the table. A crimson spot flared across the news paper.
Within that wrapper were words he had written. Perhaps as he wrote some recollection of Anderby and his visit there and her might have stirred him. She had not read one word from him since the letter he had written to her.
It was a pity to stain the paper, though. It would do so nicely for lining cupboards. Carefully she wiped off the juice with her apron. She was holding it so when Mike knocked at the door.
She let him in.
"Foreman said you was wishing to see me, missus."
"Oh, did he?"
Foreman was an old villain. Still, she had better say something to the man now he was here. She could not quite remember, though, what she was expected to say. It would not do for her to be at a loss—she who was accustomed to kitchen confidences ranging from Sunday collections to illegitimate babies.