"You're in a mighty quare humour, so you are, Mr. Chancey," said the girl, affecting a saucy tone, through which, had his ear been listening for the sound, he might have detected the quaver of extreme agitation, "you usedn't to be so cross by no means at the Columbkil, but mighty pleasant, so you used."
"Well, my little girl," said Chancey, whose suspicions were now effectually quieted, "I declare to God you're the first that ever said I was bad tempered, so you are—will you have something to drink?"
"What have you there, Mr. Chancey?" inquired she.
"This is brandy, my little girl, and this is sack, dear," rejoined Chancey, "both of them elegant; you must have whichever you like—which will you choose, dear?"
"Well, then, I'll have a little drop of the sack, mulled, I thank you, Mr. Chancey," replied she.
"There's nothing to mull it in here, my little girl," objected the barrister.
"Oh, but I'll get it in a minute though," replied she, "I'll run down for a saucepan."
"Well, dear, run away," replied he, "but don't be long, for Miss Ashwoode might want you, my little girl, and it wouldn't do if you were out of the way, you know."
Without waiting to hear the end of this charge, Flora Guy ran down the staircase, and speedily returned with the utensil required.
"Maybe I'd better go in for a minute first, and see if she wants me," suggested the girl.