"Oh, indeed!" she said, "and pray who's Mr. Hangelo? And who's a sight, I should like to know?"
"You're a sight, my dear," retorted Mr. Starling, who, however deferential and meek he might be in his master's presence, was thoroughly at home and at his ease in a public house. "You're a sight beautiful enough to gladden any hartist's eyes."
"Nonsense!" said Polly, tripping into the taproom.
Mr. Starling, with a cast of his sharp eyes in that direction, strolled up to the bar and bowed with proper respect to the landlady.
"Good-morning, ma'am. I hope I see you well. Beautiful morning for the hay——"
"Do you want anything to drink?" sternly interrupted Martha.
Not at all discomposed, Mr. Starling intimated that he should feel obliged if the lady would favor him with a glass of her very best ale, and draw it mild.
Perfectly unmoved by his grand manner and repeated bows, Martha drew the glass of ale and flung the twopence with a clash into the large pocket at her side.
Mr. Starling winked at the ceiling, chuckled noiselessly, and disposed of the ale with a peculiar drawing in of the breath and turn of the little finger.
"That's good tackle," he said.