"He's of a good old family!" said Mary, foolishly, thinking that would weigh with him.
"Good old fiddlestick! Damned old worn-out broom-end! She's of a good old family—quite good enough for his, you may take your oath! Why, my girl! the thing's not worth burning your fingers with. You've brought me here on a goose-errand. I'll go and have my lunch."
He rose.
"I'm sorry to have vexed you, sir," said Mary, greatly disappointed.
"Never mind.—I'm horribly sold," he said, with a tight grin. "I thought you must have some good thing in hand to make it worth your while to send for me."
"Then I must try something else," reflected Mary aloud.
"I wouldn't advise you. The man's only the surer to hate you and stick to her. Let him alone. If he's a stuck-up fellow like that, it will take him down a bit—when the truth comes out, that is, as come out it must. There's one good thing in it, my wife'll get rid of her. But I don't know! there's an enemy, as the Bible says, that sticketh closer than a brother. And they'll be next door when Durnmelling is mine! But I can sell it."
"If he should come to you, will you tell him the truth?"
"I don't know that. It might spoil my own little game."
"Will you let him think me a liar and slanderer?"