"Dear heart!" interrupted Mrs. Powler, feeling her position as hostess and richest of the company was being made scarcely sufficient of; "how you do jangle, all of you! Not but what," added the old lady, with singular inconsequence--"not but what I'm no scholard, and don't see the use of French names, while English is good enough for me."
"Ah, but some things is better French, as you and I, and one or two more of us could tell," said jocose Mr. Hallibut, feeling it was time for a "nip," and availing himself of the turn in the conversation to point with his elbow to the cellaret, where the special brandy was kept.
"Well, help yourself, and put the bottle on the table," said the old lady, somewhat mollified. "Ah, that was among the spoils of the brave, in the good old times when men was men!" she added, in a half-melancholy tone. She was accustomed to think and speak of her deceased husband as though he had been the boldest of buccaneers, the Captain Kyd of the Dorsetshire coast; whereas he, in his lifetime, was a worthy man in a Welsh wig, who never went to sea, or was present at the "running" of a keg.
"And so the Captain's still here," pursued Hallibut; "living in the same house, and doing much the same as usual, I suppose?"
"Jist exactly the same," replied Mr. Jupp. "Wandering about the village, molloncholly-like, and cussin' all creation."
"Mr. Jupp," broke in his better-half, "reck'lect where you are, if you please, and keep your profane swearin' to yourself."
"I wonder he don't go away," suggested Hallibut.
"He can't," said Mrs. Jupp solemnly.
"What! do you mean to say he's been running in debt here in Beachborough, or over in Bedminster?"
"He don't owe a brass farthing in either place," asserted Mrs. Powler; "if anybody ought to know, I ought;" and to do her justice she ought, for no one heard scandal sooner, or disseminated it more readily.