“I can’t go away till afternoon,” he had said to himself; “and till I have had a quiet few minutes with Mary.”
In the dining-room Glyddyr was now alone with Gellow, and there had been a scene.
“Look here,” said the latter, after partaking heartily of the breakfast, “I’m not a man who boasts, and I suppose my principles, as people call ’em, are not of the best, but, ’pon my soul, Glyddyr, if I couldn’t show up better after marrying a girl like that, I’d go and hang myself.”
“Bah!”
“No, you don’t; not a drop more,” continued Gellow, laying his hand upon a bottle of champagne that Glyddyr was about to take. “You’ve had too much now. When I’m gone, you can do as you like. You’re master here, but I won’t sit and see you go on like this.”
“It don’t hurt me. I’m as sober as you are.”
“P’r’aps so, now; but what will you be by-and-by? Hang it all, Glyd, you’ve got the girl, and the money, and you can pay me off. She’s a little darling, that’s what she is, and I’d turn over a fresh leaf—clean the slate and begin square now, I would, ’pon my soul. Do you hear?”
“Yes, I hear.”
“And now I think I’ll go back to the hotel; you don’t want me.”
“Eh! What? No, no; don’t go,” said Glyddyr excitedly.