“No, you didn’t, pet. I heard you first time, but I had to go out and kick the dogs. They heard it, too, and thought it was poachers. Only one, though—come after me!”
“You!” she said, contemptuously. “You, sir! Who would come after you?”
“Why, you would.”
“Such vanity!”
“Then what did you come for?”
“To bring you back this rubbishing little whistle.”
“Nonsense; you’d better keep that.”
“I tell you I don’t want it. Take it, sir.”
“No, I shan’t take it. Keep it.”
“There it is, then,” she cried; and she threw it at him.