ROBERT. Yus, a fat lot!

MARY. Only you must never give way to such a wicked temptation
again. Oh, don't cry! [She goes to him.]

ROBERT. Oo is cryin'? I'm not cryin'--not a cryin' sort!
On'y--you 'adn't no right to talk to me like that, miss.

MARY. Why, didn't you own . . .

ROBERT. No, I didn't. It was you as jumped down my throat, an'
took up my words afore I got 'em out.

MARY. Oh: I'm sorry. Did I make a mistake?

ROBERT. Yus, miss--a whopper.

MARY. Then you're not a . . .

ROBERT. _No_, swelp me Gaw-- [He pulls himself up.] I assure
you, no. I'm a bit of a low un; but I never come so stinkin' low
as that.

You thought I looked like one, all the same. Didn't yer, now?

MARY. Well, you see, I thought you said so; and then there's your
. . .

ROBERT. I know! You don't like my mug. It ain't much of a mug to
look at, is it? Sort of a physog for a thief, eh? See them