"There's nothing the matter," he said, in a tyrannic voice.
"Have you got the sack?" Sally was merciless. She replied to his tyrannic voice with one as hard and stabbing as a gimlet. "Ah, I thought that was it. What you been doing?"
"Nothing," said Toby. "And anyway, what's it to do with you?"
"Well, I'm out walking with you. See? And I got to do all the talking. See? And if you're going to be surly I'll go home by myself. That's what it's got to do with me. And, besides, it is something to do with me, and don't you forget it. You got no right to keep things from me."
Toby was cowed by her handling of him. He might be strong, but brains are always more potent than muscle in such circumstances. And men are always afraid of the women they love.
"Yes, I got the push," he defiantly said.
"And what's that for?" demanded Sally, with the severity of a mother to her baby. There was no answer. "What's that for?" she repeated. "Come on, Toby, you'll feel better if you tell me about it. Toby, d'you love me? Well, there's nobody about ... quick!" They kissed, and her arms had been round his neck, and Toby was her sheepish, scowling, smiling slave. Sally had a faint consciousness of joy in her power.
"Well, you see...." he began, haltingly. "Jackson and I ... we been ... well, we wanted to make a bit, you see. And—tiddent his fault, but he...."
"Been pinching stuff," said Sally. "Clumsy. Got found out. Well?"
"Well, they found out about me, too."