“Gad, my dear, I like you!” he cried, slapping his leg. “You’re a girl of spirit. Now I will make you a fair offer. If you ask for George to stay, stay he shall, as a favour to your sweet self.”
The girl trembled.
“Who is master here?” she demanded, turning a full eye on her father.
Mullet laughed uneasily.
“This is business,” he said, trying to speak lightly, “and women can’t understand it. Gunn is—is valuable to me, and George must go.”
“Unless you plead for him, sweet one?” said Gunn.
The girl looked at her father again, but he turned his head away and tapped on the floor with his foot. Then in perplexity, akin to tears, she walked from the room, carefully drawing her dress aside as Gunn held the door for her.
“A fine girl,” said Gunn, his thin lips working; “a fine spirit. ’Twill be pleasant to break it; but she does not know who is master here.”
“She is young yet,” said the other, hurriedly.
“I will soon age her if she looks like that at me again,” said Gunn. “By —, I’ll turn out the whole crew into the street, and her with them, an’ I wish it. I’ll lie in my bed warm o’ nights and think of her huddled on a doorstep.”