He reeled, not having expected her sudden movement.
“Ah want look at tha pretty feace, meh dear,” said he, only just distinctly enough for her to understand him.
And he gave her a tipsy leer of admiration.
“And now will you be kind enough to pass on?” said she, in a firm tone. “Or to let me pass on without further hindrance?”
“Ah’m not a-hinderin’ of tha,” said the young man, who was trying to stand steadily in proximity much too close to be pleasant. “Tha can goa wheer tha lakkest.”
Olivia looked at him doubtfully, but as he made for the moment no attempt to molest her, she began to feel reassured.
“Go back, then,” said she, “and let me go on.”
“Nea,” said he, shaking his head with an ugly grin; “Ah’m goin’ to help tha over t’ stile. Ah’ll carry tha whisket for tha if thr’rt civil.”
“Thank you,” said Olivia, taking the fellow’s offers as if they were courtesies, “but I want no help, either for myself or my basket. If you wish to do me a service, you will go back and let me go on.”
“Ah maun see tha over t’ stile first,” said he. “Coom, missis, don’t be shy.”