"No," she answered, "he has na. He nivver wur much give ter talk, an' he says less than ivver i' these days."
"Has he never said that she treated him well, and—was easier to please than he'd thought; has he never said nowt like that?"
"Nay, that he has na!" with vigor. "Nowt o' th' soart."
He got up as unceremoniously and abruptly as he had sat down.
"I was an accursed fool for coming," she heard him mutter.
He threw the half-sovereign toward her, and it fell on the floor.
"Art tha goin' to gi' it me?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered, and he strode through the doorway into the darkness, leaving her staring at it.
She went to the fire and, bending down, examined it closely and rubbed it with a corner of her apron. Then she tried its ring upon the flagged floor.
"Aye," she said, "it's a good un, sure enow! It's a good un!"
She had quite lost her breath. She sat down upon her stool again, forgetting the memoirs altogether.
"I nivver heard so mich doment made over nowt i' aw my days," she said. "I conna see now what he wur up to, axin' questions as if he wur i' drink. He mun ha' been i' drink or he'd nivver ha' gi'en it to me."
And on the mother's return she explained the affair to her upon this sound and common-sense basis.
"Mester Haworth's been here," she said, "an' he wur i' drink an' give me ten shillin'. I could na mak' out what he wur drivin' at. He wur askin' questions as put me out o' patience. Eh! what foo's men is when they've getten too much."
