Hunt. Hold hard, George. Speaking as one lady’s man to another, turn about’s fair play. You’ve had your confab, and now I’m going to have mine. [Not that I’ve done with you; you stand by and wait.] Ladies first, George, ladies first; that’s the size of it. (To Jean, aside.) Now, Mrs. Watt, I take it you ain’t a natural fool?
Jean. And thank ye kindly, Mr. Hunt.
Smith (interfering). Jean . . . !
Hunt (keeping him off). Half a tick, George. (To Jean.) Mrs. Watt, I’ve a warrant in my pocket. One, two, three: will you peach?
Jean. Whaten kind of a word’ll that be?
Smith. Mum it is, Jean!
Hunt. When you’ve done dancing, George! (To Jean.) It ain’t a pretty expression, my dear, I own it. ‘Will you blow the gaff?’ is perhaps more tenderer.
Jean. I think ye’ve a real strange way o’ expressin yoursel’.
Hunt (to Jean). I can’t waste time on you, my girl. It’s now or never. Will you turn king’s evidence?
Jean. I think ye’ll have made a mistake, like.