“Well, speak, tell your aunt what you think of me.”
The boy left his seat by Nancy’s side, went up to Rowton and leant against his knee.
“You have a bold face, young ’un,” said the man, chucking him under the chin; “speak out, you are not afraid, are you?”
“Afraid,” said the lad proudly, tossing back his head. “I don’t know what that means.”
“That is right; you are a gay little bantam. Now tell that beautiful lady whom you have been impertinent enough to fall in love with exactly what you think of me, her husband.”
“You know what I think of you,” said Murray, giving the man a very keen and intense glance. Something in his gaze, fixed and full as it was, caused Rowton to lower his own bold eyes. He caught the boy’s little wrist with a grip of iron, and turned him fiercely round.
“Tell your aunt what you think of me, Murray,” he said.
“I think you are a very fine man—yes, auntie, he is a very fine man indeed, very brave; about the bravest man in the world, I should say, but——”
“No ‘buts,’ young sir, out with everything.”
“Then I will tell the truth,” said Murray; “you are not good in one way.”