“Captain Kenealy, this subterfuge is unworthy of you. You know perfectly well why I distinguished you. Others pestered me with their attachments and nonsense, and you spared me that annoyance. In return, I did all in my power to show you the grateful friendship I thought you worthy of. But you have broken faith; you have violated the clear, though tacit understanding that subsisted between us, and I am very angry with you. I have some little influence left with my aunt, sir, and, unless I am much mistaken, you will shortly rejoin the army, sir.”
“What a boa! what a dem'd boa!”
“And don't swear; that is another foolish custom you gentlemen have; it is almost as foolish as the other. Yes, I'll tell my aunt of you, and then you will see.”
“What a boa! How horrid spaiteful you are.”
“Well, I am rather vindictive. But my aunt is ten times worse, as her deserter shall find, unless—”
“Unless whawt?”
“Unless you beg my pardon directly.” And at this part of the conversation Lucy was fain to turn her head away, for she found it getting difficult to maintain that severe countenance which she thought necessary to clothe her words with terror, and subjugate the gallant captain.
“Well, then, I apolojaize,” said Kenealy.
“And I accept your apology; and don't do it again.”
“I won't, 'pon honaa. Look heah; I swear I didn't mean to affront yah; I don't waunt yah to mayrry me; I only proposed out of civility.”