served George, avoiding a direct
answer.

'I don't know what she is fond of, without it's cheekin' me. What do you
think she said yesterday? That I was no better than a murderer because I
didn't pay a man his high wages when he got too old to work. A nice
thing it would be if I had to keep all my sick workmen in luxury, and pay
some one else for doing their work. It wasn't by such means that I built
this house, I can tell 'e.' Mark Clay spoke broader Yorkshire than many
of his men, and even he could speak, and did speak, better English when
he chose; in fact, it was only when he was annoyed or angry that he broke
out into dialect.

Sarah ran to her room and plunged her hands into hot water, but, as might
have been expected, without any effect; and when the lunch-gong sounded
they were still far too brilliant to bear her father's scrutiny. So she
rang for Naomi, and said, 'Just tell Sykes to send up some lunch to me,
Naomi; and if any one asks where I am, tell them I am very busy. So I am,
cleaning my hands; though you needn't tell them that.'

Naomi went off to do her young mistress's bidding, but came back in ten
minutes looking very grave, and said, 'Please, Miss Sarah, the master
says as 'ow it don't matter about your hands, and you can go down to
lunch with them as they are.'

Sarah stamped her foot with vexation. 'I told you not to say anything
about my hands, Naomi.'

'No more I didn't; but the master knew, for he told Mr Sykes to give me
that message for you. And please, miss, excuse me saying so, but Sykes he
said, "Try and make Miss Sarah come down, for master he gets into such a
taking if he's crossed;" and Sykes he says'----

'Never mind what Sykes said. Get me out my pink muslin,' said Sarah
shortly, with her most haughty air, and Naomi obeyed in silence.

Sarah's frock was not pinker than her face when she got to the
dining-room.

'So you've been to Howroyd's Mill messing with his dyes, have you? What
do you want to go there for when you could come to mine, eh? What did you
go to him for, and what did he say?' her father asked suspiciously.

'Nothing very interesting; at least I don't remember anything. Oh yes; he
said hands weren't money-making machines, but human souls which had to be
cared for,' replied Sarah.

'I don't mean that kind of talk. Did he talk business, eh?' inquired Mr
Clay.

'Oh dear no; he never does to me,' she answered.

'Not been croaking, has he?' the millionaire asked w