‘His daughter, man? Na, na, only his niece—and sib aneugh to him, I think.’
‘Aye, indeed,’ I replied; ‘I thought she had borne his name?’
‘She bears her ain name, and that’s Lilias.’
‘And has she no other name?’ asked I.
‘What needs she another till she gets a gudeman?’ answered my Thetis, a little miffed perhaps—to use the women’s phrase—that I turned the conversation upon my former partner, rather than addressed it to herself.
There was a little pause, which was interrupted by Dame Martin observing, ‘They are standing up again.’
‘True,’ said I, having no mind to renew my late violent CAPRIOLE, and I must go help old Willie.’
Ere I could extricate myself, I heard poor Thetis address herself to a sort of merman in a jacket of seaman’s blue, and a pair of trousers (whose hand, by the way, she had rejected at an earlier part of the evening) and intimate that she was now disposed to take a trip.
‘Trip away, then, dearie,’ said the vindictive man of the waters, without offering his hand; ‘there,’ pointing to the floor, ‘is a roomy berth for you.’
Certain I had made one enemy, and perhaps two, I hastened to my original seat beside Willie, and began to handle my bow. But I could see that my conduct had made an unfavourable impression; the words, ‘flory conceited chap,’—‘hafflins gentle,’ and at length, the still more alarming epithet of ‘spy,’ began to be buzzed about, and I was heartily glad when the apparition of Sam’s visage at the door, who was already possessed of and draining a can of punch, gave me assurance that my means of retreat were at hand. I intimated as much to Willie, who probably had heard more of the murmurs of the company than I had, for he whispered, ‘Aye, aye,—awa wi’ ye—ower lang here—slide out canny—dinna let them see ye are on the tramp.’