“Ecod, sir,” murmured Mr. Nye, rubbing at bristly chin, “but for that shot ... ’twas touch an’ go wi’ us for a minute, d’ye see! That shot ... was ... a shot! Aye, a shot as’ll be ’eer’d and talked on all along the coast ... ’tis for us True Believers—all on us—to keep tight mouths or some on us may swing. That young ’ooman now ... I be a cautious man by natur’, sir, so what o’ the young ’ooman? Females talk, d’ye see!”
“I can promise you that she will not,” answered Sir John, stretching wearied limbs in the grateful sunshine. “You need be under no apprehension on her account.”
“And to be sure she’ve a proper masterful, damn-your-eyes way wi’ her, drown’d me if she ain’t!”
“Very true, Mr. Nye; you may ha’ noticed she has a chin!”
“Aye, aye, sir ... but so ’ave I.”
“Very bristly—like mine own, Mr. Nye, while hers is dimpled yet determined.”
“And her carries it like any grand lady!”
“Exactly what I have thought, Mr. Nye!”
“Though I don’t set much store by fe-males, sir, being a bachelor, very determinated, d’ye see!”