“Speak for yourself, Mrs. Moll,” said Hamilton, a little hotly. “Love absolves all sinners. It knows no villainy but incompetence.” “Sure, you must be a saint, then. But betwixt this and that, and your doubt’s despite, it wasn’t in the bargain and I won’t do it.” “Then that settles it, and we must manage without.” “As you like.” She brought her hands to the front, and, linking them in the most decorous of love-knots, stiffened her neck and tossed her head backwards and a little askew. “Besides,” she said, “you seem to forget that I’ve got a husband myself.” He burst into a laugh, vexed but uncontrollable, and immediately checked himself. “I had forgot--I confess it,” he said. “Kit, is it not?” “Kit!” she ejaculated, in deep scorn. And then she, too, laughed derisively. “Not Kit?” said he. “If you knew Kit you wouldn’t ask such a silly question,” she answered. “Well, why shouldn’t I know Kit? He seems an attractive person.” “O! Kit’s attractive.” “I see, I see. Pardon my stupidity.” “What do you see?” “Kit’s a--hem!--friend of yours.” “Indeed, Kit is--the best, a’hem, friend of mine that ever hemmed a hem.” “What! a woman?” “Either that or a tailor.” “Damn it! Not a tailor?” “Damn it, why not? Though it takes nine tailors to make a man, one woman can make a tailor.” “Come, Moll, thou art goosing me.” “A tailor’s goose, maybe.” “Tell me, who is this friend of yours?” “I wonder.” “Frankly, is it man or woman?” “Frankly, I’ve never asked.” “Ah! you won’t tell me. Are we not good comrades now, and as such should have no secrets from one another?” “What do you want to know?” “What is Kit?” “Sometimes this, sometimes that. We all have our moods.” “I believe he has no existence but in your imagination. Who is he? Tell me.” “Will you kiss me, George, if I tell?” “That I will.” He suited the action to the word, putting his lips to hers, while she submitted quietly. “Now,” said he. “But I haven’t told,” she protested. He could have boxed her pink ear; and he did fling from her with some roughness. “P’sha!” he said. “I am wasting time.” “And that is not all,” said she. He saw a warning flush in her cheek, and forced his vexation under. “Well,” he said, with a propitiatory laugh, “if you tell me nothing, I’ve got the kiss for nothing; and so mine is the best of the bargain. But I count you a little unkind, Mollinda.” “I don’t mean to be that, George,” she answered, somewhat penitent. “But I shouldn’t tell secrets not my own; now should I?” That only served to restimulate his doubts and perplexity; but he said no more on the subject, feeling it wiser to desist. “Never mind,” he said. “You have your own good reasons for silence, of course, and it’s no business of mine to press them. What is more to the point is this question of your scruples regarding his lordship. So you won’t go to extremes? Then, what is to be the course? With all deference, Mrs. Moll, you can’t surely be planning to stay on here indefinitely.”