“Yes; but there shall be no follies here, sir. Look here, Madge, this fellow’s not to be trusted. He’s always going over to the Cove, to make eyes at handsome Bess Prawle; so don’t you listen to him.”
Madge looked at Geoffrey inquiringly.
“It’s quite true, Miss Mullion,” said Geoffrey, bowing assent to the old man’s words, “I am going over to the Cove; and I dare say I shall see Miss Prawle the pretty. By the way, Mr Paul, are women any the better for being pretty?”
“You—you impudent jackanapes! You, you—There, ha, ha, ha! Look at her!” he cried, chuckling at the effect of his words. “She’s run indoors in a huff, and she’ll cry as soon as you’re gone.”
“Then I hope you feel happy, sir?”
“I do,” said the old man, rubbing the ivory top of his cane. “Look here, boy, do you mean any thing by being so civil to that girl?”
“What girl, sir?”
“Don’t aggravate me, boy. Her—Madge—that smooth-faced, good-looking cat.”
“I don’t mean any thing but to be civil.”
“Not marriage?”