"I'm not jibbing his mouth," replied Miss French. "Think I can't drive! You can hold on to the reins if you like, though, and, see here, you can smoke if you want to."
"It's not you I'd be axin' if I wanted to," replied Moriarty, halting the donkey on a part of the path that was fairly level, so as to get a light for his pipe before they emerged into the sea breeze on the cliff top.
Miss French watched the operation critically, she did not in the least resent the tone of the last few words.
Moriarty was a character. In other words, he had a character. Moriarty would not have given the wall to the Lord Lieutenant himself. Moriarty was not a servant, but a retainer. He received wages, it is true, but he did not work for them; he just worked for the interests of the Frenches.
He had a huge capacity for doing the right thing, and a knack of doing everything well.
The latter he proved just now by lighting his pipe with a single match, though the sea breeze, despite the shelter of the cliff top, was gusting and eddying around him.
The pipe alight, he set the donkey going, and the next minute they were on the cliff top.