“Yes, eight o’clock,” said Nelly. “Did he say eight?”
“He did,” said Davy.
The loud voices of a moment before had suddenly dropped to broken whispers. Davy made a prolonged whistle.
“Stop,” said he; “haven’t you been in the habit of meeting him?”
“I have never seen him but once,” said Nelly. “But haven’t you been in the habit of meeting her?”
“Never set eyes on the little skute but twice altogether,” said Davy. “But didn’t he see you first in St. Thomas’s, and didn’t you speak with him on the shore—”
“I’ve never been in St. Thomas’s in my life!” said Nelly. “But didn’t you meet her first on the Head above Port Soderick, and to go to Laxey, and come home with her in the coach?”
“Not I,” said Davy.
“Then the stories she told me of the Manx sailor were all imagination, were they?” said Nelly.
“And the yarns he tould me of the girl in the church were all make-ups, eh?” said Davy.