And what with my bit airnins--we'll do, yer know, miss--we'll do!" The old woman looked up with a nod, her green eyes sparkling with the queer inhuman light that belonged to them.
Marcella could not bring herself to say good-night to her, and was hurrying on without a word, when Mrs.Jellison stopped her.
"An' 'ow about that straw-plaitin', miss ?" she said slyly.
"I have had to put it on one side for a bit," said Marcella, coldly, hating the woman's society.

"I have had my hands full and Lady Winterbourne has been away, but we shall, of course, take it up again later." She walked away quickly, and Mrs.Jellison hobbled after her, grinning to herself every now and then as she caught the straight, tall figure against the red evening sky.
"I'll go in ter town termorrer," she thought, "an' have a crack wi' Jimmy Gedge; _ee_ needn't be afeard for 'is livin'.

An' them great fules as ha' bin runnin' in a string arter 'er, an' cacklin' about their eighteen-pence a score, as I've told 'em times, I'll eat my apron the fust week as iver they get it.

I don't hold wi' ladies--no, nor passons neither--not when it comes to meddlin' wi' your wittles, an' dictatin' to yer about forgivin' them as ha' got the better ov yer.

That young lady there, what do she matter?
That sort's allus gaddin' about?
What'll she keer about us when she's got 'er fine husband?
Here o' Saturday, gone o' Monday--that's what she is.