“Oh, I am, arn’t I?” said Joe. “Always going up to the Hall of a night, eh? Gets out o’ my bedroom windy, and steals off to meet squires in vestry rooms, I do, don’t I?”
“Joe Chegg!”
“And carries on as no decent female would wi’ my missus’s young man.”
“Joe Chegg! Oh, please let me go by,” whispered Dally. “I want to go somewhere particular.”
“Then want’ll be your master, for you’re not going without parson says you are to. Come on and ask him.”
Joe caught her by the wrist, but she wrested it away, and nearly got through the gate, but he was too quick for her.
“That shows as you’re up to no good,” said Joe. “You wouldn’t fight against seeing your master if you weren’t off on the sly at half arter ten.”
“Half-past ten!” cried Dally. “It isn’t.”
At that moment the chimes ran out the half-hour, and Dally drew her breath hard, and made a desperate effort to pass; but this time Joe caught her round the waist and held her, avoiding a scratched face from the fact that the girl’s hands were gloved.
“How dare you?” she panted, ready to cry hysterically from vexation.