“Of course what?”
“Of course I love you.” He smiled, but at heart he grimaced.
“I don't believe you,” said she, from custom waiting his protestation. But the Duke's Chamberlain was in no mood for protestations. He looked at her high temples, made bald by the twisted papilottes, and wondered how he could have thought that bold shoulder beautiful.
“I'm in a great hurry, Kate,” said he. “Sorry to go, but there's my horse at the ring to prove the hurry I'm in!”
“I know, I know; you're always in a hurry now with me: it wasn't always so. Do you hear the brute?” Her husband's squeaky voice querulously shouting on a servant came to them from behind.
The servant immediately after came to the door with an intimation that Mr. Petullo desired to know where the spirit-bottle was.
“He knows very well,” said Mrs. Petullo. “Here is the key—no, I'll take it to him myself.”
“It's not the drink he wants, but me, the pig,” said she as the servant withdrew. “Kiss me good afternoon, Sim.”
“I wish to God it was good-bye!” thought he, as he smacked her vulgarly, like a clown at a country fair.
She drew her hand across her mouth, and her eyes flashed indignation.