“She’s a plucky woman, your mother, and a darned good-looking one still, me boy, if you’ll let an old man say so. Shame you had to desert her. But you nympholepts are all crazy. It’s beyond me what you can find⁠—But there! It’s a matter of taste. But I don’t see why you need have bought the filly as well as ridden her. Torp’s a reasonable man; though he is such a fool. But there. We all have to pay for our little vices. Well! About the two hundred, me boy⁠—I suppose you must have it. Yes, by Jove, Solent, and you shall have it! And what’s more, we’ll drink a glass of my old Malmsey to wash the business down!”