"Do, Ma'am; he deserves it all. To go fighting and—and after all, do you know for a certainty what he went fighting about?"—
"Folly, madness, of course," said I. "Jealous of"—
"Well, I thought so!" cried Josephine, with a strange knowing look. "I thought as much. Jealous, and of you, too, above all folks! And in your Honeymoon, too. Well, I'm sure; as if there wasn't time enough for that!"
"I don't mean to say jealous; not of me—of course not. But the fact is, he fired up at a rudeness, a liberty that"—
"You don't say so, Ma'am!" cried the girl. "La, and if you please, how was that?"
"Why, it was all folly—all nonsense—and he ought to have known better; but—there was a little flower-girl on the beach. What's the matter, Josephine?" for I saw the creature look suddenly confused.
"Nothing, Ma'am—only I—I once saw that girl—a gipsey-girl, Ma'am—with flowers, Ma'am; yes, to be sure."
"Then you know her?" I asked.
"Can't say I know. Because one should hardly lower oneself to know a creature of that sort. Only once, and perhaps twice, I've had a nosegay of her."
"Well, she would give a nosegay to me," said I.