“He wasn’t for knowing it was my own wife,” said Davy. “But were you simple enough to trust the woman who was telling you she was going to meet your own husband?”
“She didn’t know it was my own husband,” said Nelly. “But that wasn’t the only thing she told me.”
“And it wasn’t the only thing he tould me.” said Davy. “He tould me all your secrets—that your husband had deserted you because he was a brute and a blackguard.”
“I have never said so,” cried Nelly. “Who dares to say I have? I have never opened my lips to any living man against you. But you are measuring me by your own yard, sir; for you led her to believe that I was a cat and a shrew and a nagger, and a thankless wretch who ought to be put down by the law just as it puts down biting dogs.”
“Now, begging you pardon, ma’am,” said Davy; “but that’s a damned lie, whoever made it.”
After this burst there was a pause and a hush, and then Nelly said, “It’s easy to say that when she isn’t here to contradict you; but wait, sir, only wait.”
“And it’s aisy for you to say yonder,” said Davy, “when he isn’t come to deny it—but take your time, ma’am, take your time.”
“Who is it?” said Nelly.
“No matter,” said Davy.
“Who is the man,” demanded Nelly.