'Man says he's husband to Mrs. Nankervis,' said the sergeant.
'He's no husband of mine. I declare I never set eyes on him before this
night. It's a dirty trick, nothing else, it's a dirty trick.'
'Why, you're a liar, saying you never set eyes on me before,' barked the
man near the hearth. 'You're married to me, and that girl Maryann you had
by me--well enough you know it.'
The young soldiers looked on in delight, the sergeant smoked imperturbed.
'Yes,' sang the landlady, slowly shaking her head in supreme sarcasm, 'it
sounds very pretty, doesn't it? But you see we don't believe a word of
it, and _how_ are you going to prove it?' She smiled nastily.
The man watched in silence for a moment, then he said:
'It wants no proof.'
'Oh, yes, but it does! Oh, yes, but it does, sir, it wants a lot of
proving!' sang the lady's sarcasm. 'We're not such gulls as all that, to
swallow your words whole.'
But he stood unmoved near the fire. She stood with one hand resting on
the zinc-covered bar, the sergeant sat with legs crossed, smoking, on the
seat halfway between them, the three young soldiers in their shirts and
braces stood wavering in the gloom behind the bar. There was silence.
'Do you know anything of the whereabouts of your husband, Mrs. Nankervis?
Is he still living?' asked the sergeant, in his judicious fashion.
Suddenly the landlady began to cry, great scalding tears, that left the
young men aghast.
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