"Darling mother!"
Quinney pushed the girl aside.
"All your fault, you baggage! Susan! Susan!"
Susan sobbed inarticulately. Quinney shook her, speaking loudly, but not unkindly, confounded in his turn by an indictment which he hardly understood.
"Stop it, old dear, stop it! I care about you. Susie—I do, indeed! Worked for you, I have, made a perfect lady of yer! Couldn't get along without you, no how! And you know it! Darby and Joan—what? Oh, bung it! Gawd bless me soul! you'll melt away like, if you ain't careful. Sue, s'elp me, you come first."
She lifted her head with disconcerting suddenness.
"Do I? Sure?"
He seized her hand, and pressed it.
"Why, of course. Nice old cup of tea, you are, to doubt that!"
"You'd miss me if I went?"