Here Bet knelt down, and laid her shapely hand on Granger's arm; her eyes looked into his, and her lips, so hard and firm a minute ago, absolutely smiled. "You're none so young as you were," she continued; "you're getting on in years, and your step's a bit shaky, and your hairs are turning white. You wants your comforts, father--course you do. Why, this room--it was shameful when I come in, and look at it now!--it's a bit spry, ain't it now?" "For sure, yes; it _is_ spry," said Granger, glancing round him in a nervous, anxious manner. His daughter's strange demeanor and unusual gentleness by no means reassured him. "What are you arter, Bet?" he said, as gruffly as he could manage to speak. "You don't bring honeyed words like them 'ere into this house for nothing. Tell out what you wants, and don't talk flummery." "I wants you and Dent to take the shame off Will Scarlett," said Bet. "There's no flummery there--that's my meaning, spoke out plain. You two ha' put shame on Will, and cast him into prison, and I want you to take him out again, and lift the shameful lie off him. That's all--it ain't much, and it 'ull be the better for your souls--ef you have any souls--that you should do it." Granger burst into a loud laugh. "You have the cheek!" he said. "And for you to wed him, I suppose, the werry minute as he gets his liberty! No, no, Bet--none of that. I ain't much--for sure I ain't much; but a gel brought up in Sparrer Street shan't wed with no thief. There--I'm going out. I know nought about Will Scarlett. Neither Dent nor me could open his prison doors for him. You talk rubbish, Bet, and I'm 'shamed to hear you. I'm going out--you can set by the fire as long as you pleases, or you can go back to Paradise Row." Granger turned to the door. But Bet was before him. She turned the key in the lock and put it in her pocket. "No, no, father; you don't go out until you hear my terms," she said. CHAPTER XIX. All her softness had deserted her. She looked like what she was--a wild, untamed creature brought to bay.