"You give me the creeps when you laugh like that," said Matilda; "and all the way to Gravesend you grumbled—when you weren't seasick. That is pretty lover, to go and be bilious on a pleasure trip!"
"It was the iron that had entered into my soul, Matilda," remarked Trotters, solemnly.
"It disagreed with you, whatever it was," said Matilda, tossing her pretty head and turning up her nose. "And when another gentleman—a stranger—was attentive, and took care of me, instead of being grateful, you went on like a mad bull, and talked about having his gore."
"Either his or my own," groaned Trotters. "Oh, woman! why art thou thus?"
"You wouldn't want to marry us if we weren't, would you, gaby?" snapped Matilda. "Give me that nasty thing, there, do!" She pointed to Trotters' breast pocket, which, as far as could be seen by the light of the street-lamp near them, looked bulky.
"Never!" said Trotters, recoiling.
"It'll go off one of these days, I know it will," sobbed Matilda, "and then you'll be sorry."
A smile illumined Trotters' visage. Nobody knew better than himself that the deadly weapon wasn't loaded. He had bought it of a marine store dealer, cleaned and polished it—it was a five-chambered revolver—and clicked the trigger three or four times to make sure; but even that made him nervous.
"She's really frightened!" he said, as he walked away.
An irresistible impulse came over him to frighten her a little more. He went back. He peeped over the garden gate. The house stood dark and silent. Everybody had gone to bed. He would steal round into the back garden and throw a little gravel up at Matilda's window. That would bring her down.