George leaned forward with an expectant smile. Miss Ram read: “Miss Rosa Brump—”
George's smile died. An “Eh?” was startled out of him.
“Brump,” said Miss Ram testily. “Brump. B-r-u-m-p, Brump.”
George said “Oh!”; ran a finger around the inside of his collar.
Miss Ram read on, emphasising the Brumps with the suggestion of a ball bouncing from rock to rock:
“Miss Rosa Brump; aged 21; daughter of the late Selwyn Agburn Brump, barrister-at-law. Companion to Miss Victoria Shuttle of Shuttle Hall, Shuttle, Lines, until that lady's death. The late Miss Shuttle dying suddenly, Miss Brump has no reference from her. What that reference would have been, however, is clearly evidenced by the fact that in her will Miss Shuttle bequeathed 'to my faithful companion Rosa Brump,' her terra-cotta bust of the late Loomis Shuttle, Esq., J.P., inventor of the Shuttle liquid manure.”
Miss Ram wagged a finger at George. “That speaks for itself,” she said.
George did not answer. He was in a confusion of fear. This terrible woman would force Miss Brump upon him. He was powerless in her hands. He was in chains.
“Does it not?” poked Miss Ram.
“Rather,” said George. “Oh, rather.”