Mary wasn't the kind to go back on a friend in any company. She put her other hand on mine and said: "That's the nicest thing you could say, Will."
Mr. Belknap didn't like it. He swung around as if he found me worth more attention than at first, and when our eyes met he saw I was on to him, bigger than a wolf. All he changed was a quick tightening of the lips. We looked at each other steady. He ought to have showed uneasiness, consarn him, but he didn't. Instead he smiled, like I was amusing. I loved him horrible for that—me and my steeple hat and sash to be amusing!
"You have a most impulsive nature, Mr. Saunders," says he.
I wanted to tell him he was entirely correct, and that I'd like to chase two rascals the same day. I had sense enough not to, but said:
"I'm not ashamed to own it—particularly where Mary's concerned."
"Ah!" he says, raising his eyebrows, "you are old friends?"
"Not so very old," says Mary. "That seems cold—we're very warm, young friends."
"It is pleasant for the young to have friends," says he.
"That's hardly as surprising a remark as your face led me to expect," says I. "It's pleasant for anybody to have friends."
It was his turn not to be overjoyed. I hid my real meaning under a lively manner for Mary's benefit, and while perhaps she didn't like my being quite so frivolous to the overpowering Mr. Belknap, she saw no harm in the speech. He did, though.