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"Since you're so curious," said Mary, defiantly, "Mr Loggerheads told me himself." "When?" "The other day." "You never said anything to me," protested Mr Morfe. "It didn't occur to me," Mary replied. "Well, I'm very glad!" remarked Eva Harracles. "But I thought I ought to let you know at once what was being said."
Gwenda looked up from her book. "No," she said. "He's away, isn't he?" "Away? 'El'll nat get away fer long enoof. 'E's too ill." "Ill?" Alice sent the word out on a terrified breath. Nobody took any notice of her. "T' poastman tell mae," said Mrs. Gale. "From what 'e's 'eerd, 'twas all along o' Nad Alderson's lil baaby up to Morfe. It was took wi' the diptheery a while back.
Sometimes, returning from his northerly rounds, he would send the trap on, and walk back to Morfe by Karva, on the chance. Once, when the moon was up, he sighted her on the farther moors beyond Upthorne, when he got down and walked with her for miles, while his man and the trap waited for him in Garth. But that was reckless.
Immediately after the departure of Richard Morfe and Eva Harracles, his betrothed, from the front door of the former, Mr Simon Loggerheads arrived at the same front door, and rang thereat, and was a little surprised, and also a little unnerved, when the door opened instantly, as if by magic.
"I suppose," she said to herself, "she couldn't help it." The lights of Morfe shone through the November darkness. The little slow mare crawled up the winding hill to the top of the Green; Rowcliffe's horse was slower. But no sooner had Peacock's trap passed the doctor's house on its way out of the village square, than the clanking hoofs went fast. Rowcliffe was free to go his own pace now.
Today she had visited all the sick people in the village, though it was not Wednesday, Dr. Rowcliffe's day. She had done her shopping in Morfe to such good purpose that she had concealed even from herself the fact that she had gone into Morfe, surreptitiously, to fetch the doctor. Of course Mary was aware that she had fetched him. She had been driven to that step by sheer terror.
"We couldn't, Steven, when you've sent for Greatorex. We must get at the truth before he comes." Rowcliffe shrugged his shoulders. "Have you brought him?" said the Vicar. "No, I haven't. He's in Morfe. I've sent word for him to come on here." Alice looked sharply at him. "What have you sent for him for? Do you suppose he'd give me away?" She began to weep softly.
The first week in August they would go down to Morfe for the shooting. They would stay there till the first week in September. Nicky and Veronica would be married the first week in October. And they would go to France and Belgium and Germany for their honeymoon. They did not go down to Morfe the first week in August for the shooting.
The explanation of this habit offers a proof of the sentimental relations between them. Mr Morfe was an accountant. Indeed, he was the accountant in Bursley, and perhaps he knew more secrets of the ledgers of the principal earthenware manufacturers than some of the manufacturers did themselves. But he did not live for accountancy.
All these happenings were exciting and wonderful to Ally. "But you're not interested, Gwenda." "I am, darling, I am." She was. Ally knew it but she wanted perpetual reassurance. "But you never tell us anything." "There's nothing to tell. Nothing happens." "Oh, come," said Ally, "how's Papa?" "Much the same except that he drove into Morfe yesterday to see Molly." "Yes, darling, of course you may."
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