All at once, exhausted by his passion, desperate at seeing no chance of success, angry at being flouted by a child, he threw himself into the chair, and settled his chin on his breast, and folded his arms.
“Go on,” said he. “Tell me what is my way out of this.”
“You cannot expect my help or my advice, Captain, so as to forward what would be most unsatisfactory to me.”
“What! do you grudge her to me?”
“Not that; but, if she were here, what would become of me? Should I be turned out into the cold at my age by this red-headed hussy, to find a home for myself with strangers? Here I never would abide with her as mistress, never.”
“I care naught about you.”
“No, of that I am aware, to my regret, sir; but that makes it all the more necessary for me to take care for myself.”
“I see,” said Coppinger, “I must buy you. Is your aid worth it? Will she listen to you?”
“I can make her listen to me,” said Aunt Dunes, “if it be worth my while. At my age, having roughed it, having no friends, I must think of myself and provide for the future, when I shall be too old to work.”
“Name your price.”