He braced himself to the trying task, waited until
the kitchen was empty of those among his servants who ate at his table, and
then replied to the question which his niece promptly put.
"What do this mean, Uncle Thomas? What's come o' Joan that she do drop in
'pon us like this here wi' never a word to say she was comin'?"
"Polly," he answered, "your cousin Joan have seen sore trouble, in a manner
o' speakin', an' you'd best to knaw fust as last. Us must be large-minded
'bout a thing like this She'm tokened to a gen'leman from Lunnon."
"What! An' him--Joe Noy?"
"To he plain wi' you, Polly, she've thrawed en over. Listen 'fore you
speaks. 'Twas a match o' Michael Tregenza's makin', I reckon, an', so
like's not, Joe weern't any more heart-struck than Joan. I finds it hard to
feel as I ought to Gray Michael, more shame to me. But Joan's failed in
love wi' a gen'leman, an' he with her, an' he'm comin' any mornin' to fetch
'er--an'--an'--you must be tawld--'tis time as he did come. An' he've sent
Joan a thousand pound o' paper money to shaw as 'e means the right thing."
But the woman's mind had not followed these last facts. Her face was white
to the lips; her hands were shaking. She put her head down upon them as she
sat by the fire, and a groan which no power could strangle broke from her
deep bosom. She spoke, and regretted her words a moment later. "Oh, my God!
an' he brawk off wi' me for the likes o' she!"
"Theer, theer, lass Mary, doan't 'e, doan't 'e.
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