“Why, sir, Willy Reilly—the famous Willy Reilly—has got a footing in the house of old Squire Folliard.”
“And how can that be bad news to me, Mary?”
“Well, I don't know,” said she, with a cunning leer; “but this I know, that they had a love scene together this very morning, and that he kissed her very sweetly near the chimney-piece.”
Sir Robert Whitecraft did not get into a rage; he neither cursed nor swore, nor even looked angrily, but he gave a peculiar smile, which should be seen in order to be understood. “Where is your—ahem—your friend now?” he asked; and as he did so he began to whistle.
“Have you another job for him?” she inquired, in her turn, with a peculiar meaning. “Whenever I fail by fair play, he tries it by foul.”
“Well, and have not I often saved his neck, as well by my influence as by allowing him to take shelter under my roof whenever he was hard pressed?”
“I know that, your honor; and hasn't he and I often sarved you, on the other hand?”
“I grant it, Molly; but that is a matter known only to ourselves. You know I have the reputation of being very correct and virtuous.”
“I know you have,” said Molly, “with most people, but not with all.”
“Well, Molly, you know, as far as we are concerned, one good turn deserves another. Where is your friend now, I ask again?”