"Who's Copper Nob?"
The question came like the crack of a whip, and I was glad the familiar phrase had slipped out unawares and diverted her.
"Our Kate," I explained.
"Oh indeed, sir! A more beautiful head of hair no woman in this land possesses, and you glibly call her 'Copper Nob.' Doubtless you have selected some nice expressive name for me!"
"I shouldn't dare!" I protested hotly.
"Why not? You do it for her, brazenly and wantonly."
"Yes, madam, but she's my sister."
"How does that assure me?"
"A man's sister isn't a woman," said I, and went ahead and pushed open the door. There, sure enough, was Timothy, looking very uncertain and rueful. The little man's complaisance had given me the greatest wonder of my life--Margaret's silent watching over me as I lay asleep, and I gave him a guinea with much gladness.
"The coat's too big for you, Timothy, and it's no good denying it. I'll speak to his worship about a new one of the right length."