Gilbert seated himself, and Mrs. Poole, pretending to arrange the linen, stood just before him, with a sly smile.

‘I’m not sure that I do,’ he replied, avoiding her look.

She lowered her voice.

’The idea of a great lad going on like he does!  Why, it’s the young lady that lives in your house—­Miss Trent, you know, I don’t know her myself; no doubt she’s wonderful pretty and all the rest of it, but I’m that sick and tired of hearing about her!  My husband’s out a great deal at night, of course, and Luke comes and sits here hours by the clock, just where you are, right in my way.  I don’t mean you’re in my way; I’m talking of times when I’m busy.  Well, there he sits; and sometimes he’ll be that low it’s enough to make a body strangle herself with her apron-string.  Other times he’ll talk, talk, talk and it’s all Thyrza Trent, Thyrza Trent, till the name makes my ears jingle.  This afternoon I couldn’t put up with it, so I told him he was a great big baby to go on as he does.  Then we had some snappy words, and he went off to his bedroom and wouldn’t have any tea.  But really and truly, I don’t know what’ll come to him.  He says he’ll take to drinking, and he does a deal too much o’ that as it is.  And to think of him losing days from his work!  Now do just tell him not to be a fool, Mr. Grail.’

With difficulty Gilbert found an opportunity to put in a word.

‘But is there something wrong between them?’ he asked with a forced smile.

‘Wrong?  Why, doesn’t he talk about it to you?’

’No.  I used to hear just a word or two, but there’s been no mention of her for a long time.’

’You may think yourself lucky then, that’s all I can say.  Why, she wouldn’t have anything to say to him.  And I don’t see what he’s got to complain of; he admits she told him from the first she didn’t care a bit for him.  As if there wasn’t plenty of other lasses!  Luke was always such a softy about ’em; but I never knew him have such a turn as this.  I’ll just go and tell him you’re here.’

‘Perhaps he’s gone to bed.’

’Not he.  He sits in the cold half the night, just to make people sorry for him.  He doesn’t get much pity from me, the silly fellow.’

She ran up the stairs.  Grail, as soon as she was gone, fell into a reverie.  It did not seem a pleasant one.

In a few minutes Mrs. Poole was heard returning; behind her came a heavier foot.  Ackroyd certainly looked far from well, but had assumed a gay air, which he exaggerated.

’Come to see if I’ve hanged myself, old man?  Not quite so bad as that yet.  I’ve had the toothache and the headache and Lord knows what.  Now I feel hungry; we’ll have some supper together.  Give me a jug, Maggie, and I’ll get some beer.’

‘You sit down,’ she replied.  ‘I’ll run out and fetch it.’

‘Why, what’s the good of a jug like that!’ he roared, watching her.  ‘A gallon or so won’t be a drop too much for me.’