“You may kill me, Mr. Rash, but it won’t make no difference to madam ’avin’ loved you––”
Two strong hands at his throat choked back more words, till the sound of his strangling startled Allerton into a measure of self-control. He scrambled to his feet again.
“Get up.”
Steptoe dragged himself up, and after dusting himself with his fingers stood once more passive and respectful, as if nothing violent had occurred.
“If I was Mr. Rash,” he went on, imperturbably, “I’d let well enough alone.”
It was Allerton who was breathless. “Wha—what do you mean by well enough alone?”
“Well the wye I see it, it’s this wye. Mr. Rash is married to one young lydy and wants to marry another.” He broke off to ask, significantly: “I suppose that’d be so, Mr. Rash?”
“Well, what then?”
“Why, then, ’e can’t marry the other young lydy till the young lydy what ’e’s married to sets ’im free. Now that young lydy what ’e’s married to ’as started out to set ’im free, and if I was Mr. Rash I’d let ’er.”