“Coorse I did; but what's the odds? Africa, Kimberley, the Lord knows where——”
“Kimberley! Not Kimberley, Pete!”
“Kimberley or Timbuctoo, what's it matter to the like of you? A man's coming up in the morning to bid you good-bye before an early sailing, and you're thinking of nothing but your capers and divilments.”
“It's you to know what a girl's thinking, isn't it, Mr. Pete? And why are you flying in my face for a word?”
“Flying? I'm not flying. It's driven I am.”
“Driven, Pete?”
“Driven away by them that's thinking I'm not fit for you. Well, that's true enough, but they shan't be telling me twice.”
“They? Who are they, Pete?”
“What's the odds? Flinging my mother at me, too—poor little mother! And putting the bastard on me, it's like. A respectable man's girl isn't going begging that she need marry a lad without a name.”
There was a sudden ejaculation from the window-sash. “Who dared to say that?”