“Oh, you’ve seen Tom!” she said, as if relieved.
“Ay, and he said I was to have some bread and cheese and beer.”
“Yes, Jock,” she cried; “I’ll get it out.”
She had to pass him, and he caught her hand in his, towering over her and making her shiver, as if fascinated by his gaze, as Julia Mallow had been a score of times.
“Stop!” he said, in a low, deep voice. “Wait a bit. I don’t want the bread and cheese. Look here, Polly.”
“Yes, Jock, yes,” she panted; “but don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt ye!” he growled; “I feel as if I could kill thee.”
“Jock!”
“Look here, Polly. I came to see Tom to-day to jump upon him, and call him a fool, and give him back what he’s given me for not settling down and marrying and being respectable. I was going to laugh at him, and show him what his respectable married life was.”
“I—I don’t understand you, Jock,” she said, faintly.