The red flush on Wat’s brow grew deeper.
“I am afeared not, Sir,” he made answer, of a low voice.
“Should they go into three?” Wat hesitated, but seemed more diseased (uncomfortable) than ever.
“Should four overlap them?”
Wat brake forth.
“Father, I would you would scold me—I cannot stand it! I should feel an hard whipping by far less than your terrible gentleness. I know I have been a downright fool, and I have known it all the time: but what is a man to do? The fellows laugh at you if you do not as all the rest. Then they come to one every day, with, ‘Here, Louvaine, lend me a sovereign,’—and ‘Look you, Louvaine, pay this bill for me,’—and they should reckon you the shabbiest companion ever lived, if you did it not, or if, having done it, you should ask them for it again.”
“Wat!” saith Aunt Joyce from the window.
“What so, Aunt?” quoth he.
“Stand up a minute, and let me look at thee,” saith she.
Walter did so, but with a look as though he marvelled what Aunt Joyce would be at.