“The whole o’t?”

“Every risson.”

“About the glove, too?”

“Glove and all,” said wicked Gavinia, and she continued to feast her eyes so admiringly on her deceived husband that he passed quickly from the gratified to the dictatorial.

“Let this be a lesson to you, woman,” he said sternly; and Gavinia intimated with humility that she hoped to profit by it.

“Having got the glove in so solemn a way,” he went on, “it would have been ill done of me to blab to you about it.  Do you see that now, woman?”

She said it was as clear as day to her.  “And a solemn way it was,” she added, and then waited eagerly.

“My opinion,” continued Corp, lowering his voice as if this were not matter for the child, “is that it’s a love-token frae some London woman.”

“Behear’s!” cried Gavinia.

“Else what,” he asked, “would make him hand it to me so solemn-like, and tell me to pass it on to her if he was drowned?  I didna think o’ that at the time, but it has come to me, Gavinia; it has come.”

This was a mouthful indeed to Gavinia.  So the glove was the property of Mr. Sandys, and he was in love with a London lady, and—­no, this is too slow for Gavinia; she saw these things in passing, as one who jumps from the top of a house may have lightning glimpses through many windows on the way down.  What she jumped to was the vital question, Who was the woman?

But she was too cunning to ask a leading question.

“Ay, she’s his lady-love,” she said, controlling herself, “but I forget her name.  It was a very wise-like thing o’ you to speir the woman’s name.”

“But I didna.”

“You didna!”

“He was in the water in a klink.”

Had Gavinia been in Corp’s place she would have had the name out of Tommy, water or no water; but she did not tell her husband what she thought of him.

“Ay, of course,” she said pleasantly.  “It was after you helped him out that he telled you her name.”

“Did he say he telled me her name?”

“He did.”

“Well, then, I’ve fair forgot it.”

Instead of boxing his ears she begged him to reflect.  Result of reflection, that if the name had been mentioned to Corp, which he doubted, it began with M.

Was it Mary?

That was the name.

Or was it Martha?

It had a taste of Martha about it.

It was not Margaret?

It might have been Margaret.

Or Matilda?

It was fell like Matilda.

And so on.  “But wi’ a’ your wheedling,” Corp reminded his wife, bantering her from aloft, “you couldna get a scraping out o’ me till I was free to speak.”

He thought it a good opportunity for showing Gavinia her place once and for all.  “In small matters,” he said, “I gie you your ain way, for though you may be wrang, thinks I to mysel’, ‘She’s but a woman’; but in important things, Gavinia, if I humoured you I would spoil you, so let this be a telling to you that there’s no diddling a determined man”; to which she replied by informing the baby that he had a father to be proud of.