“There it is again—if I could look in the glass—it is fourteen years since I did that—if I could see that fool of a girl—if—if—if!” she said, with an irrepressible simper—“the old proverb again—ifs and ans were pots and pans—’twas old Mistress Tarnley used to say that—a d——d old witch she always was,” she broke out, parenthetically, “and should be broke alive on the wheel.”
“Bang away wi’ the devil’s broomstick, and break her to smash for me,” said Harry. “But I’d sooner talk o’ yourself. Hang me, if you ever looked better—there’s no such figure; and, by the law, it’s looking up—it is—better and better every day. I like a tall lass, but ye beat them all, by the law, and ye shows off a dress so grandly.”
“Now don’t think, foolish thing, I like compliments—in at one ear and out of the other,” she said, with the same smirk, shaking her great head.
“Hoot, lass! Compliments, indeed! Why should I? Only this, that knowing you so long I just blurts out everything that comes uppermost, and it’s a pity ye shouldn’t have money to dress as ye should.”
“I never had that,” said the lady.
“Never—I know that well—and if ye won’t be said by me, ye’ll have less,” said Harry.
“I don’t think you know much about it,” said Bertha, serenely.
“Now, Bertha, child, you mustn’t keep contradictin’ me. I do know a deal about it—everything. There was no marriage, never.”
“As long as Charlie lived, ye never said that—you always backed me.”
“I’m not going to tell lies for no one,” said he, sulkily.