“You call her mother,” cried Bob, angrily.
“I should like to know,” said his companion, whose temper was invulnerable, “where I could find a better name.”
“And old girl,” cried Rob, working himself into a sort of fury, “and—other names.”
“I beg your pardon, old fellow; there I was wrong. It don’t mean anything, you know. It means dear old lady; but I know it’s an ugly style, and comes from bad breeding, and I’ll never do it again.”
A sort of grunt, half satisfied, half sullen, came from Rob, and his companion knew the worst was over. “Let’s think a little,” he said—“you’re grand at describing—tell me a bit what that woman is like.”
Rob hesitated for some minutes, and then his pride gave way.
“She’s what you might call all in the air,” he said.
“Yes?”
“But looks at you to see if you think her so.”
“That’s capital, Bob.”