“It's that damned girl.”
“That girl?”
“Miss Humfray!”
“Miss Humfray! Done that to you! Oh, your poor face! Your poor face!”
“No!—no! Do be quiet, mother! Some infernal man she goes about with in the Park! I spoke to him and he set on me!”
“The infamous creature! The wicked, infamous girl! A bad girl, I knew it!—”
Agitated tapping at the door: “The cotton-wool m'am.” “Sticking-plaster, m'am.” “'Ot bottle, m'am.”
“Go away!” roared Bob. “Go away! O-oo, my face!” He hopped in wrath and pain. “Send those damned women away!”
Mrs. Chater rushed to the door. Passing, she for the first time caught full sight of her son's face now that the hot water had exposed its wreck. “Oh, your eyes! Your poor eyes! They're closing up!”
Bob staggered to the mirror; discovered the full horror of his marred beauty. “Curse it!” he groaned and gave an order.