“No, but it doesn’t matter. I can sit perfectly dry under this porch. Good afternoon!” She hated the excess of vernacular in his speech.

He watched her closely, as she was moving away. Then he hitched up his jacket, and put his hand in his breeches pocket, taking out the key of the hut.

“ ’Appen yer’d better ’ave this key, an’ Ah mun fend for t’ bods some other road.”

She looked at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean as ’appen Ah can find anuther pleece as’ll du for rearin’ th’ pheasants. If yer want ter be ’ere, yo’ll non want me messin’ abaht a’ th’ time.”

She looked at him, getting his meaning through the fog of the dialect.

“Why don’t you speak ordinary English?” she said coldly.