"Let them do their work by day and drink their beer by night. Fancy those fellows in my house!"
"I'm sorry you feel like that. I thought you'd be interested—and—and I'd try to find you a house somewhere else. There must be some other houses, Mr. Austin?"
"One or two round about, I fancy," said I.
"Nice little ones—to suit a single man?" she asked, her bright eyes now seeking, now eluding, a meeting with his.
"I suppose I can choose the size of my house for myself," Octon growled. "I don't want Austin's advice about it."
"Oh, it wasn't poor Mr. Austin who—who spoke about the size of the house." A sudden thought seemed to strike her. "You might stay on and be something in the Institute!"
"I'd burn the house over my head sooner."
"Burn my pretty house! Oh, Mr. Octon! I should be so hurt—and you'd be sent to prison! What a lot of police it would need to take you there!"
The last sentence mollified him—and it was clever of her to know that it would. He had his primitive side, too. He was primitive enough to love a compliment to his muscles.
"I'd be out of the country before they came—with you under my arm," he said, with a laugh.