“I don’t mind Miss Leo knowing. She does know,” cried Dally. “Perhaps she sent me.”
“Did she, though—did she, though? Ay, but she’ll win him after all, Dally. She’s better and handsomer than you are, and she’s a leddy, Dally. You’ve got no chance against she.”
“Haven’t I, gran’fa? You’ll see. But not if I’m obliged to go up to the Hall looking shabby and mean. You said I should have a silk gown and a feather.”
“Did I? Did I? Oh, it was only my joking, Dally. You’re such a pretty gel, you don’t want silk dresses and feathers.”
“No, I don’t want ’em,” said Dally sharply; “but men do. They like to see us dressed up. Squire Tom thinks I look a deal nicer when I’ve got my best frock on.”
“Did he say so, Dally—did he say so?”
“Never you mind, gran’fa. Where’s the money you promised me?”
“Nay, I’ve thought better of it. You shall have it some day—when I’m dead and gone.”
“No, no, gran’fa, dear; I don’t want you to die,” whispered Dally, fondling him. “I want you to live a long time yet, and come and see me at the Hall.”
“Tchah! you’ll never get to be there. It’ll be Miss Leo.”