She laughed.
“I’d not care to keep you so long.”
“Thin I’ll get me hell first, which is wrong,” he answered sadly. “I tho’t ye were orthodox.”
“I’m—” She pressed his arm in warning as a man passed them rapidly, turning to look back into their faces. He was weazen, middle-aged, with a wry face.
“That’s the reason for borrowing you,” she explained in a low voice.
“Thot’s not a reason; ut’s an apology,” Kerrigan said tartly. “Ut’s a monkey, not a mon.”
“He’s always hanging about,” she replied. “My father and mother favor him; he’s got money.”
“Ut’s a curse,” Kerrigan declared solemnly.
“So the rich tell me,” said the girl with a laugh.
“I’m rich mesilf while I have ye,” he said.