"For God's sake!" cried Milly, putting her hand upon Grif's mouth, and then upon the dog's.
Grif looked at her, inquiringly.
"That was the Oysterman who passed us," said Milly, with a pale face. "I hope he didn't hear you."
"I don't care if he did. It can't make any difference between us. He hates me and Rough, and Rough and me hates him; don't we?"
Rough gave a sympathetic growl.
"And so you were up at the house, eh, Grif?" said Milly, as if anxious to change the subject. "What were you doing all the night?"
"I was sittin' with--"
But ignorant as Grif was, he hesitated here. He knew full well the difference between the two women who were kind to him. He knew that one was what he would have termed "respectable," and the other belonged to society's outcasts. And he hesitated to bring the two together, even in his speech.
"You were sitting with--?" Milly said.
"No one particler," Grif wound up, shortly.