“I don’t doubt. And you’re the one---- That’s like you poets. You’re a mangy lot, Maggy. I see you so plainly, Maggy, telling my wife. Like a cat making love. In the twilight. Oh, I’ve seen you.” “Go on, Stukeley.” “You come crawling round my wife. I’ve seen you look at her. I’ve seen you shake hands with her. I’ve seen your eyes. Doesn’t she make your mouth water? Wouldn’t you like that hair all over your face? Eh? Eh? And her arms round you. Eh?” “Stukeley,” said Margaret, “I’d advise you to stop. Stop now.” “Wouldn’t you like to----?” “Stop.” “I know you would. Poems, eh? I’ve read a lot of your poems to her, Maggy.” “Were you looking for my purse?” “No, Maggy. But I thought you needed watching. I don’t want any mangy poet crawling round my wife. So I just watched you, Maggy.” “Yes?” “Oh yes. I don’t think you’ve succeeded yet, Maggy. Even in spite of your poems.” “Stukeley,” said Margaret, rising from his chair, “when we get to Accomac you will come ashore with me. I’ll do my best, when we’re ashore, to put my sword”--he advanced to Stukeley, bent swiftly over him, and touched him sharply on the Adam’s apple--“just there, Stukeley. Right through. To save the hangman the trouble.” Stukeley watched him with amused contempt; he laughed. “Maggy’s in a paddy,” he said. “No, Maggy. I’m a married man, now, ducky. What would my wife do if she woke up one fine morning and found me gone? Eh?” “Are you afraid to fight?” “Afraid of a little crawling maggot who comes whining out some measly poems?” Margaret took a quick step forward, and shot out a hand to seize Stukeley by the throat. Stukeley caught him by the wrist. “Look here, Maggy,” he said. “Drop my wrist. Drop it.” “Take your dirty wrist.” “Take back what you said.” “You do amuse me, Maggy.” “Take it back.” “You ought to have been a woman. Then you could have married that damned fool Perrin. And you could have----” “You----” “Ah no, ah no. No blows, Maggy.” “Take back what you said.” “That I was afraid?” “You’d better, Stukeley.” “Did I say that I was afraid? I’m not, you know. It’s you who are afraid.” “You’ll see.” “I shall see. You are afraid. You’re in love with Olivia, ducky. D’ye think you’re going to fight me? Not Maggy. You’d like me away, wouldn’t you, Maggy. Then perhaps she’d. She’s an awful fool when you come to know her, Maggy. To know her as I know her. She might be fool enough to. And then. Oh. Bliss, eh? Bliss. Morning, noon, and night. Eh?” “Stukeley, I’ve stood a good deal----” “Yes, ducky. But don’t be so excited. You won’t fight me. You’ll be afraid. You’ll lick my boots, like you’ve done all the time, so as to get a sweet smile from her. Doesn’t she smile sweetly, my little Maggy? You’ll lick my boots, Maggy. And hers. Lick, lick, lick, like a little crawling cat. Wouldn’t you like to lick her hand, Maggy? Her fingers? Don’t go, Maggy. I’m just beginning to love you.” “We’ll go on with this at Accomac, Stukeley.”