“What for?”
“Because I want it to boil.”
“What, to make a what-you-may-call-it—a mash for La Sylphide?”
“Na-a-a-y!” cried Mark. “What a dear, innocent, little darling you are, Jenny! We call it putting the pot on when we lay every dollar we can scrape together, and more too, on a horse winning.”
“And that’s what you’ve done?” said Jenny, quietly.
“That’s right, little one; every mag.”
“Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mark.”
“What!” cried the young man in dismay.
“Didn’t you promise me that if I’d keep comp’ny with you, you’d give up all your old tricks you learnt with Master—Sir Hilton—and be steady?”
“And so I have been. Saved every penny, and thought of nothing but getting on for you.”