Mr. Walters stared at her in honest amazement. After a moment he remarked gruffly that the flavour of the ale itself was good enough for him. Rosa’s eyes sparkled.
"Go on, then," said Mr. Walters, grudgingly.
The boatswain’s face relaxed. Then it hardened suddenly and a dazed look crept into his eyes as Rosa, drinking about two-thirds of the ale, handed him the remainder.
"That’s for your impudence," she said, sharply. "I don’t like beer."
Mr. Walters, still dazed, finished the beer without a word and placed the glass on the table. A faint sigh escaped him, but that was all.
She looked at his strong, lean face and powerful figure approvingly, but the bereaved boatswain took no notice.
She patted her hair into place, and, in adjusting a hair-pin, permitted a long, thick tress to escape to her shoulder. She uttered a little squeal of dismay.
"False, ain’t it?" inquired Mr. Walters, regarding her antics with some amazement.
"False!" exclaimed Rosa. "Certainly not. Here! Tug!"
She presented her shoulder to the boatswain, and he, nothing loath, gave a tug, animated by the loss of two-thirds of a glass of beer. The next instant a loud slap rang through the kitchen.
"And I’d do it again for two pins," said the outraged damsel, as she regarded him with watering eyes. "Brute!"
She turned away, and, pink with annoyance, proceeded to arrange her hair in a small cracked glass that hung by the mantel-piece.
"I ’ad a cousin once," said Mr. Walters, thoughtfully, "that used to let her ’air down and sit on it. Tall gal, too, she was."
"So can I," snapped Rosa, rolling the tress up on her finger, holding it in place, and transfixing it with a hair-pin.
"What d’ye mean by that?" demanded Rosa, sharply. "Do you mean to say I can’t?"
"You might if you cut it off first," conceded Mr. Walters.
"Cut it off?" said Rosa, scornfully. "Here! Look here!"
She dragged out her hair-pins and with a toss of her head sent the coarse yellow locks flying. Then, straightening them slightly, she pulled out a chair and confronted him triumphantly. And at that moment the front-room bell rang.
"That’s for you," said Mr. Walters, pointedly.
Rosa, who was already back at the glass, working with feverish haste, made no reply. The bell rang again, and a third time, Rosa finally answering it in a coiffure that looked like a hastily constructed bird’s nest.