"By appointment—you—here? Who be it, then, if I may ax?"
"You may not. Mind your awn business."
"I will do, so soon as I knaw it. Awnly it happens as I'm here myself to meet a friend, same as you—an'—an'—is it Henery Collins you'm come to see? You might tell me if 'tis."
"Shaan't tell you nothin'—shaan't underman myself to talk to 'e at all. I'm sick of 'e. You'm spyin' 'pon me, an' I won't have it."
"Spyin' on a fule! Do 'e thinks I care a farthin'-piece what you do or what trash you meet? I'll be plain, anyways, though you'm 'shamed of your company whoever 'tis, by the looks of it. I'm here to meet Greg Libby; so I'll thank you to go!"
"Him?"
"Ess—him. He's a right to ax me to meet him wi'out your leave, I s'pose?"
"No fay, he haven't! No right at all, as I'll soon larn him."
Margery blazed.
"An' why for not, you gert haggage of a woman? Who be you to have the man 'pon your tongue—tell me that?"