“Easy! none of that!” exclaimed the man, in a low tone, catching her by the shoulder. Perdita eyed him composedly, and he presently relinquished his grasp, and chuckled. “All right,” he said, “I see you know a thing or two. Now, look here. I ain’t got no mort. What do you say—shall we strike hands? You and me together can do good business. What do you say?”
“What do you mean by mort?”
“Come, now? Walker! Well, wife, if you like.”
“Do you mean that you’ll marry me?”
“As sure as my name’s—what it is!” said the man.
“Will you take care of me, and beat any man who insults me?”
“Yes, I will!”
“I have a great mind to let you marry me,” said Perdita, after a pause. “You’d be as good as anybody else, and perhaps better. But I’ve been married once, and I don’t think I shall ever marry again. I’m going to do something else.”
“What?”
“That’s no business of yours.”