Part 40 (1/2)
”Come over, then, into the arbor.”
”I have told you again and again that I never would!”
”You are a little tartar,” he whispered. ”You get prettier every day, and peck and say nastier things to me. But there, I don't mind; it only makes me love you more and more.”
”It isn't true,” she cried furiously. ”You're a wicked story-teller, and you know it.”
”Am I?”
”Yes; that's the same miserable sickly tale you have told to half-a-dozen of the silly girls in the village. I know you thoroughly now. How dare you follow me and speak to me? If I were to tell my brother he'd nearly kill you.”
”Quite, p'raps, with a drop out of one of his bottles.”
”I can never forgive myself for having listened to the silly, contemptible flattery of the cast-off lover of a labourer's daughter.”
”Oh, I like that, Jenny; what's the good of bringing all that up?
That's been over ever so long. It was only sowing wild oats.”
”The only sort that you are ever likely to have to sow. I know all now--everything; so go to her, and never dare to speak to me again.”
”What? Go back to Sally? Well, you are a jealous little thing.”
”I, jealous--of you?” she said, with contempt in her tone and manner.
”Yes, that's what's the matter with you, little one. But go on; I like it. Shows me you love me.”
”I? Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Jenny derisively. ”Do you think I don't know everything?”
”I daresay you do. You're such a clever little vixen.”
”Do you suppose it has not reached my ears about your elopement with your cousin?”
”I don't care what you've heard; it ain't true. But I say, don't hold me off like this, Jenny; you know I love you like--like anything.”
”Yes, anything,” she retorted angrily; ”any thing--your dogs, your horses, your fis.h.i.+ng-rods and gun.”
”Oh, I say.”
”You miserable, deceitful trickster, I ought not to have lowered myself to even speak to you, or to come out again to-night, but I wanted to tell you what I thought about you, and it's of no use to treat such thick-skinned creatures as you with contempt.”
”Well, you are wild to-night, little one. Don't want me to show my teeth, too, and go, do you?”
”Yes, and the sooner the better, sir; go back to your wife.”
”Go back to my wife!” he cried, in tones which carried conviction to her ears. ”Oh, I say; you've got hold of that c.o.c.k-and-bull story, have you?”
”Yes, sir, I have got hold of the miserable c.o.c.k-and-bull story, as you so elegantly turn it.”
”Oh, I don't go in for elegance, Jenny; it ain't my way; but as for that flam, it ain't true.”