A smile upon the face of Mrs. Lovett was a practical contradiction to the rebuff which her reception of him by words of mouth seemed to carry.
"Oh, you bewitching—a—a—"
The remainder of the sentence was lost in the devouring a pie, which the "swaggering companion" took from the shop counter.
"Really, sir," said Mrs. Lovett—"I wish you would not come here, I am all alone, and—"
"Alone? You beautiful female.—Oh you nice creature.—Allow me."
The "swaggering companion" lifted up that portion of the counter which enabled Mrs. Lovett to pass from one side of it to the other, and as coolly as possible walked into the parlour. Mrs. Lovett followed him, protesting at what she called his impudence. But for all that, a bottle of spirits and some biscuits were procured. The "swaggering companion," however, pushed the biscuits aside, saying—
"Pies for me. Pies for me."
Mrs. Lovett looked at him scrutinisingly as she said—
"And do you really like the pies, or do you only eat them out of compliment to me?"
"Really like them? I tell you what it is; out of compliment to you, of course, I could eat anything, but the pies are delicacies.—Where do you get your veal?"