The girl laughed derisively.
“You’re on the wrong tack, my lady,” observed Cooney, reprovingly. “Don’t be so cheeky, because it aint becoming in young females to be cheeky.”
“Get out with your impudence. Give me the letter at once, and I will take it up to Mrs. Bourne.”
“All right, my lass, there it is; but don’t you be agivin’ it to anybody else. Do yer hear?”
“Yes, I hear,” cried the maid, tripping lightly upstairs with the missive in question.
“She is a pretty creature,” murmured Cooney, as he was waiting in the passage. “A jolly nice gal, but a little pert; but I like her all the better for that. Don’t care a bit about your smooth-tongued wenches.”
In a minute or so the maid returned and handed an envelope with no name or address upon it to Rawton’s messenger.
“You are to give that to him,” said the maid, in a more subdued tone of voice.
“Thank you kindly,” returned Cooney. “Oh, but you are a darling, and no mistake.”
“Get along with your impudence. I never met with such a rude man in all my life.”