“And no mistake,” said the audacious boy. “How else can I detain you when you hate me so?” She began to peep into his sparkling eyes to see the reason of this strange conduct.
“C'way from the door, ye vagabin,” said Sampson.
“No, no, my friend,” said Mrs. Dodd, trembling, and still peering into his sparkling eyes. “Mr. Alfred Hardie is a gentleman, at all events: he would not take such a liberty with me, unless he had some excuse for it.”
“You are wonderfully shrewd, mamma,” said Alfred admiringly. “The excuse is, I don't hate you as you hate me; and I am very happy.”
“Why do you call me mamma to-day? Oh, doctor, he calls me mamma.”
“Th' audacious vagabin.”
“No, no, I cannot think he would call me that unless he had some good news for us both?”
“What good news can he have, except that his trile is goin' well, and you don't care for that.”
“Oh, how can you say so? I care for all that concerns him: he would not come here to insult my misery with his happiness. He is noble, he is generous, with all his faults. How dare you call me mamma, sir! Call it me again, my dear child; because then I shall know you are come to save my heart from breaking.” And with this, the truth must be told, the stately Mrs. Dodd did fawn upon Alfred with palms outstretched and piteous eyes, and certain cajoling arts of her sex.
“Give me a kiss then, mamma,” said the impudent boy, “and I will tell you a little bit of good news.”