young woman in her prime, you Madge! be such a
fool as not see I serve tool to stock our shop.'

'Your paytron bid you steal off with my lady's child, Kit Ines, you'd do
it to stock your shop.'

Ines puffed. 'If you ain't a girl to wallop the wind! Fancy me at that
game! Is that why my lady--but I can't be suspected that far? You make
me break out at my pores. My paytron's a gentleman: he wouldn't ask and
I couldn't act such a part. Dear Lord! it'd have to be stealing off, for
my lady can use a stick; and put it to the choice between my lady and
her child and any paytron living, paytron be damned, I'd say, rather'n
go against my notions of honour. Have you forgot all our old talk about
the prize-ring, the nursery of honour in Old England?'

'That was before you sold yourself to a paytron, Kit Ines.'

'Ah! Women wants mast-heading off and on, for 'em to have a bit of a
look-out over life as it is. They go stewing over books of adventure
and drop into frights about awful man. Take me, now; you had a no small
admiration for my manly valour once, and you trusted yourself to me, and
did you ever repent it?--owning you're not the young woman to tempt to
t' other way.'

'You wouldn't have found me talking to you here if I had.'

'And here I'm left to defend an empty castle, am I?'

'Don't drink or you'll have your paytron on you. He's good use there.'

'I ask it, can I see my lady?'

'Drunk nor sober you won't. Serve a paytron, be a leper, you'll find,
with all honest folk.'

Ines shook out an execrating leg at the foul word. 'Leper, you say? You
say that? You say leper to me?'

'Strut your tallest, Kit Ines. It's the money rattles in your pocket
says it.'

'It's my reputation for decent treatment of a woman lets you say it,
Madge Winch.'

'Stick to that as long as your paytron consents. It's the one thing
you've got left.'

'Benefit, you hussy, and mind you don't pull too stiff.'

'Be the woman and have the last word!'

His tongue was checked. He swallowed the exceeding sourness of a retort
undelivered, together with the feeling that she beat him in the wrangle
by dint of her being an unreasonable wench.

Madge huffed away to fill her boxes.

He stood by the cart, hands deep down his pockets, when she descended.
She could have laughed at the spectacle of a champion prize-fighter
out of employ, hulking idle, because he was dog to a paytron; but her
contempt of him declined passing in small change.

'S