“Quite right, ma’am! I hope he hasn’t hurt anybody,” said the cook, unable to realize fully the discomfiture of the youth.
Miss Dimchurch slammed the gate and left the couple standing in the road. The cook turned and led the way down to the town again, accompanied by the crestfallen Henry.
“’Ave a apple, cook?” said the latter, proffering one; “I saved a beauty a-purpose for you.”
“No, thanks,” said the cook.
“It won’t bite you,” said Henry shortly.
“No, and I won’t bite it either,” replied the cook.
They continued their way in silence, until at the market-place Henry paused in front of the “Farmer’s Arms.”
“Come in and ’ave a pint, old chap,” he said cordially.
“No, thankee,” said the cook again. “It’s no use, Enery, you don’t git over me in that way.”
“Wot d’ye mean?” blustered the youth.