"Then, not alone old Malachi, but every mother's son in Crowmore is mad. I'm blest if I ever saw anything to beat this," surveying Helen, and her costume, and her flatteringly empty cart, with wrathful amazement.
"You need not be alarmed, no one recognized me, excepting Larry Flood—the cat is still in the bag, unless you let it out."
"What put it into your head to go play-acting about the country, along with the market-cart? What did you do it for?"
"Merely to make money; an article that is rather scarce at the Castle. You hardly suppose that I did it for a joke, do you, or for pleasure?"
"Well, all I can say is, that if I had anything to say to you——"
"Which you have not," she interrupted quickly.
"There you go, as usual—snapping the nose off my face. I was only saying if I had. However, I'm glad enough to meet you in any shape—alone."
Helen glanced at him nervously, and waited to hear the sequel to this rather significant remark.
"You see, up at the Castle, you have Dido pinned to your elbow all day, and I never get a word with you."
"It seems to me that you get a good many, all the same."