"Stuff—stuff!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft; "I ain't to be gammoned in that way."
"It's no gammon," said Ginger. "Look at them ears, miss—vy, they're as long as your own ringlets—and them pads—an' I'm sure you von't say she's dear at twenty pound."
"She's a lovely little creature, indeed," returned Ebba, again patting the animal's head.
While this was passing, two men of very suspicious mien, ensconced behind a pillar adjoining the group, were reconnoitring Auriol.
"It's him!" whispered the taller and darker of the two to his companion—"it's the young man ve've been lookin' for—Auriol Darcy."
"It seems like him," said the other, edging round the pillar as far as he could without exposure. "I vish he'd turn his face a leetle more this vay."
"It's him, I tell you, Sandman," said the Tinker. "Ve must give the signal to our comrade."
"Vell, I'll tell you wot it is, miss," said Ginger coaxingly, "your sveet'art—I'm sure he's your sveet'art—I can tell these things in a minnit—your sveet'art, I say, shall give me fifteen pound, and the dog's yourn. I shall lose five pound by the transaction; but I don't mind it for sich a customer as you. Fairy desarves a kind missus."
Auriol, who had fallen into a fit of abstraction, here remarked:
"What's that you are saying, fellow?"