"And there's your Notya."
"Ah!"
"And he'd beat you."
"I might like it."
"And he'd be foul-mouthed."
"Horrid!" Helen exclaimed.
"But I should be used to nothing else."
"And if you came down our high road one day and begged at our door, and saw some one like yourself, some one clean and fresh and innocent—"
"So that's what he thinks of me!"
"Hush! I like this," Helen said.