"Not a bit of it. They all think I'm a miser, don't they? Let 'em go on thinking it. 'Tis the way of a miser's bones to stick out through his skin. Everybody knows that I live cheap from choice and always have. I hate the time given to eating and drinking." "You've always lived like a labouring man," she admitted. "But of late, here and there, people be more friendly towards you, because you let your folk bide at Cadworthy; and I'm sick and tired of hearing Hester Baskerville tell me you don't eat enough, and Rupert and Milly too. Then there's that Gollop woman and a few other females have said things against me about the way I run this house. And 'tis bad to suffer it, for the Lord knows I've got enough on my mind without their lies." "Get 'em off your mind, then," he answered. "You're a changed woman of late, and I'll tell you what's done it. I only found out myself a bit ago and said nought; but now I will speak. I've wondered these many weeks what had come over you, and three days since I discovered. And who was it, d'you think, told me?" Her guilty heart thumped at Susan's ribs. "Not Jack Head?" she asked. "Jack? No. What does he know about you? Jack's another changed creature. He was pretty good company once, but his losses have soured him. 'Twasn't Jack. 'Twas the reverend Masterman. You've signed the pledge, I hear." "He'd no business to tell," declared Susan. "Yes, I have signed it. I'm a wicked woman, and never another drop shall pass my lips." "'Tis that that's made you cranky, all the same," he declared. "You was accustomed to your tipple and you miss it. However, I'm the last to say you did wrong in signing. When your organs get used to going without, you'll find yourself better company again. And don't worry about the table I keep. I live low from choice, not need. It suits me to starve a bit. I'm the better and cheerfuller for it." But then she took up the analysis and explained to him whence his good health and spirits had sprung. "Ban't that at all. 'Tis what you be doing have got into your blood. I know--I know. You've hid it from all of 'em, but you haven't hid it from me. I don't clean up all the rubbish you make and sift your waste-paper basket for nought. I itch to let it out! But God forgive me, I've let out enough in my time." He turned on her angrily; then fearlessly she met his frown and he subsided. "You're a dangerous, prying woman," he said, "and you ought to be ashamed of yourself." "I'm all that," she admitted; "and shame isn't the word. I'm ashamed enough, and more than ashamed." "If you let out a breath of my little games, I'll pack you off into the street that very day, Susan." She sat down by the fire and took her knitting off the peat box where it was usually to be found. "You needn't fear me," she answered. "I've had my lesson. If ever I tell again what I should not, you may kick me into the gutter." He mused over the thoughts that she had awakened.