The disfavor with which she had examined him began be to mingled with distrust. She hitched her stool a few inches backward.
"Mester Murdoch!" she echoed. "Aye, I know him well enow."
"He comes here every day or so?"
"Aye, him an' me's good friends."
"He's got a good many friends," he said.
"Aye," she answered. "He's a noice chap. Most o' folk tak' to him. Theer's Mr. Ffrench now and her."
"He goes there pretty often?"
"Aye, of tener than he goes any wheer else. They mak' as mich o' him as if he wur a gentleman."
"Did he tell you that?"
"Nay," she answered. "He does na talk mich about it. I've fun it out fro' them as knows."
Then a new idea presented itself to her.
"What does tha want to know fur?" she demanded with unceremonious candor.
He did not tell her why. He gave no notice to her question save by turning away from the fire suddenly and asking her another.
"What does he say about her?"
He spoke in such a manner that she pushed her stool still farther back, and sat staring at him blankly and with some indignation.
"He does na say nowt about her," she exclaimed. "What's up wi' thee?"
The next moment she uttered an ejaculation and the book of memoirs fell upon the floor. A flame shot up from the fire and showed her his face. He drew forth his purse and, opening it, took out a coin. The light fell upon that too and showed her what it was.
