'All you had!' cried the little woman. 'That sounds kind o' shiftless; and I don't take you for that sort of a man neither, Mr. Bounder.'
'Much obleeged for your good opinion, mum.'
'Then why didn't you git more onion seed, du tell, when you knowed you hadn't enough?'
'As I said, mum, I am much obleeged for your good opinion, which I hope I deserve. There is reasons which must determine a man, upon occasion, to do what you would not approve—unless you also knowed the reasons.'
This sounded oracular. The two stood and looked at one another. Christopher explained himself no further; however, Mrs. Blumenfeld's understanding appeared to improve. She looked first inquisitive, and then intelligent.
'That comes kind o' hard upon me, at the end,' she said with a somewhat humorous expression. 'You see, I've made a vow— You believe in vows, Mr. Bounder?'
'I do, mum,—of the right sort.'
'I don't make no other. Wall, I've made a vow to myself, you see. Look here; what do you call that saint o' your'n? up to your house.'
'I don't follow you, mum,' said Christopher, a good deal mystified.
'You know you've got a saint there, I s'pose. What's her name? that's what I want to know.'