"Perhaps that would be the easiest way out of it, after all," said Moore, belligerently. "I 'd ask nothing better than to get a chance at him."
"I can't have you fighting with every stranger that comes to Ireland, Tom," said Bessie, assuming that slight air of proprietorship that is so soothing to an eager lover, implying as it does a regard not only of the present moment, but apparently keeping in sight possibilities of the future. Moore felt this subtle influence and yielded to it gradually.
"Thanks be to St. Patrick, they are gone at last," said he in a sulky tone. "Now you can do your arithmetic."
"Tom, you are cross," said Bessie, reproachfully. "This is what I get for staying here to please you."
"What was Sir Percival saying to you so confidentially just now?"
"He was coaxing me to go to London."
"I knew it," cried Moore, angrily. "I 'll do that gay lad an injury if he keeps on."
"Hush, Tom," said Bessie, reprovingly.
"I 'll do something desperate to him," continued Moore, striding up and down the room in his rage.
"Tom," said the girl, in her most persuasive tone. "Tom!"