"I don't much like putting up at the Paul Jones, John," she observed. "They take such a while to yoke up, and the ostler can't do anything right."
John made no reply. Ever since his illness he had grown more reserved. The trouble of the strike had stunned him into a lethargy of submission. After his protest on the first morning, when he considered Mary's outburst of temper unjustifiable, he had accepted her judgments without comment. Mary was therefore surprised when, as they drove through the streets at the west end of the town, he volunteered a remark:
"I saw young Rossitur this morning."
"Oh."
Of course someone was bound to mention him sooner or later. Ever since she heard of his return to the village, she had prepared herself to face every possible situation. She would meet him somewhere, and be forced to speak with him—or John would meet him, and remember.... But day by day news came of him, of his interview with Hunting, of his impassioned speech to the men of the union, of his final settlement of the strike. And she had never seen him. Perhaps he had avoided her as assiduously as she had avoided him.
She sat silent for a moment, her attention apparently occupied by the reins. Then she gained sufficient self-control to ask, with apparent indifference:
"Did you speak to him at all?"
He knocked the ashes out of his pipe against the splash-board, before he answered.
"Yes, I did. You know, Mary, I don't think we did that young fellow justice."
"No? Why, John?"