This familiarity with Peace greatly annoyed Mr. Dyson, who was a discreet, equably-disposed, well-conducted man.
He was greatly incensed at his wife’s intimacy with our hero, and as time went on he spoke his mind pretty plainly, but Peace was not a man to be snubbed easily—he openly defied Mr. Dyson, and continued his persecutions of his erratic wife.
It is certain that for a considerable period he had a powerful hold of her—not of her affections perhaps, but her vanity was such that she continued on friendly terms with him long after her husband had expressed his dislike to the man.
One afternoon she had been with him to his brother’s public-house, where, it appears, there were singing and dancing.
She bent her steps in the direction of Darnall. Peace insisted on accompanying her, and as the pair were proceeding along they came in sight of a well-known roadside inn, with a garden in its front; here they stopped and had some refreshment.
“It’s no use your thinking of giving me the cut, old woman,” said Peace. “I’ll stick to you while I’ve life, and I’m not going to be shunted.”
“I wish you’d hold your tongue, or, at any rate, not speak so loud,” cried his companion. “I never met with such a man in all my life.”
“I am devotedly attached to you, and you know it,” whispered Peace; “and nothing in the world shall make me give you up.”
“You are talking like a fool.”
“No matter about that—I’m saying what I mean. I tell you again, I won’t be cast off. I love you too well for that. Do you hear?”