He drew himself together with a little nervous dignity, as though foreseeing that Daddy would make remarks.
'Miss Purcell!—what, Lucy?—Lucy? Upon my word, Davy! Why, her father'll wring her neck when he finds it out. And she came to warn you?'
Daddy stood a moment taking in the situation, then, with a queer grin, he walked up to David and poked him in the ribs.
'So there were passages—eh, young man—when you were up there?'
The young fellow straightened himself, with a look of annoyance.
'Nothing of the sort, Daddy; there were no passages. But Miss Lucy's done me a real friendly act, and I'd do the same for her any day.'
Dora had sat down to her silks again. As David spoke she bent closely over them, as though the lamp-light puzzled her usually quick perception of shade and quality.
As for Daddy, he eyed the lad doubtfully.
'She's got a pretty waist and a brown eye, Davy, and she's seventeen.'
'She may be for me,' said David, throwing his head back and speaking with a certain emphasis and animation. 'But she's a little brick to have given me notice of this thing.'