Roberts: "What--what would you do?"

Campbell: "I don't know. Look here, Roberts: would you mind sitting a
little way off, so as to look as if I didn't belong with you? I don't
want to be involved in this little row of yours unnecessarily."

Roberts: "Oh, come now, Willis! You don't think she'll make any
trouble? I apologized. I said everything I could think of. She _must_
think I was sincere."

Campbell: "In taking her for a cook? I've no doubt she did. But I
don't see how that would help matters. I don't suppose she's gone for
an officer; but I suspect she's looking up the largest Irishman of her
acquaintance, to come back and interview you. I should advise you to
go out and get on some train; I'd willingly wait here for Amy and
Agnes; but you see the real cook might come here, after you went, and
I shouldn't know her from Adam--or Eve. See?"

Roberts, desperately. "I see--Good heavens! Here comes that woman
back; and a man with her. Willis, you must help me out." Roberts gets
falteringly to his feet, and stands in helpless apprehension, while
Mr. and Mrs. McIlheny bear down upon him from the door. Mr. McIlheny,
a small and wiry Irishman, is a little more vivid for the refreshment
he has taken. He is in his best black suit, and the silk hat which he
wears at a threatening slant gives dignified impressiveness to his
figure and carriage. With some dumb-show of inquiry and assurance
between himself and his wife, he plants himself in front of Roberts,
in an attitude equally favorable for offence and defence.