He inquired after you to-day."
"Did he?"
"Iss. 'How's Miss Marty?' says he. 'Agein' rapidly,' says I. The nerve
that some folks have! Comes up to me as cool as my lord and holds
out a hand. He've a-grown into a sort of commercial; stomach like a
bow-window, with a watch-guard looped across. I'd a mind to say 'Eggs'
to 'en, it so annoyed me."
"I hope you didn't."
"No. 'Twould have seemed like bearin' malice. 'Tis an old tale, after
all, that feat of his."
"Nine an' thirty year, come seventeenth o' September next. Did he say
any more?"
"Said the weather-glass was risin', but too fast to put faith in."
"I mean, did he ask any more about me?"
"Iss: wanted to know if you was married. I reckon he meant that for a
bit o' pleasantness."
"Not that! Ah, not that!"
Job laid down knife and fork with their points resting on the rim
of his plate, and, with a lump of pasty in one cheek, looked at his
sister. She had pushed back her chair a bit, and her fingers were
plucking the edge of the table-cloth.
"Not that!" she repeated once more, and hardly above a whisper.
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