“Now, what have you come for again? I saw you coming as I let Miss Madlin in, and it’s too bad.”
“Oh, Liza, Liza?” said the fish-woman, “what a wicked girl you are to talk to your poor mother like that?”
“I don’t care whether it’s wicked or whether it aren’t wicked, but I just tell you this: if you come begging again, you may just go back, for you’ll get nothing here. It’s disgraceful; you taking to that.”
“No, no, not begging, my dear,” said Poll, staring at her daughter’s red-brown face, as if lost in admiration. “Lor’, Liza, what a hansum gal you do grow!”
“Now, do adone, mother, and don’t talk like that.”
“I can’t help it, Liza. I wonder half the fisher lads in port aren’t half mad after you.”
“Now, mother, be quiet; you’ll have Miss Margreet hear!”
“Nay, she’ll be down-stairs with the company, won’t she? Yes, Liza, you do grow more and more hansum every day.”
“Then you oughtn’t to tell me so, mother. It’ll only make me prouder than I am. Now, what do you want again? This is four times you’ve been here this week.”
“Is it, my dear? Well, you see, I’ve got some of them big mussels as you’re so fond on, and I brought you a few to cook for your supper.”