“What’s the matter?” she laughed; they had come to a part where the wall melts into the high-lying fields and the path is very wide, and Hal stepped back a pace or two and turned a red and angry face toward the girl.
“Look here, Anny,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. “I’m tired of this hankering and whining after that dirty little Spaniard. You know we’re going to be married as soon as I can get some money; then I’ll be able to give you things—better things than him—aren’t you going to wait for me? See here, I won’t have this carrying on with the foreigner.”
Anny’s blood was up and she turned to her lover as fierce as a tiger-cat.
“Indeed, and will you not, Master Hal Grame?” she said bitingly. “I’ll have you know that you have no authority over me you—you tapster!”
Hal blinked; he had never seen Anny like this before and he stood staring at her in amazement, his mouth half open.
“I have not hankered after the Spaniard, as you call it.”
Anny’s eyes were bright with tears at his injustice, but she spoke firmly, and with great intensity.
“And as for you being tired, master Lord of the Island, so is Anny Farran, your servant—very, very tired of this fooling. Lord! you child—is it me that hankers,” the word seemed to have stuck in her mind, for she repeated it, “hankers for the Captain? Is it me? Oh, Hal Grame—I—I hate you.”
Hal stepped back another pace or two and looked round him vaguely. This was a new departure of Anny’s. He had never seen her so indignant, and he thrust his hands in his pockets and turned on his heel.
“I hope that is the Preventative folk then,” he remarked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “then they’ll catch the little dog.”