"I shall have to," I said.
"Then you're a pitiful miserable sneak!" said she. "Take that!" and she gave me a smart box on the ear with her hand, which was not by any means a soft one.
My ear tingled, and my temper tingled more, for I hadn't been used to that sort of thing; but still the main thought with me was how to get rid of them both, and to prove myself trustworthy. Almost without thought I found myself saying again—
"If you don't both go this minute, I'll tell Mr. Laurence as soon as ever he comes back."
"Very well; we'll go," said she. "You sneak! I'll never speak to you again!"—and she looked as if she meant it. "Come, Will, 'tisn't worth staying for, after all."
She turned round with such a whisk, in her anger, that she bounced up against Will, and sent him staggering against the nearest case of stuffed birds; and between them they gave it such a shake that a small plaster head, standing on the top, fell with a crash and broke across at the neck.
"Bother!" said she. "That's like your clumsiness, Will. What a plague!"
Before I could stop her she picked up the two pieces and set the head on the neck.
"Oh, that's all right! It doesn't show. Mr. Laurence won't see it for weeks, you may be sure. Come along, Will," and she went off, not giving me a look. But just outside the door she turned back and glared at me, and her eyes didn't look pretty then. "Mind," she said, "if you let slip one word of this to Mr. Laurence, you won't stay long in the house. I'll see to that, I promise. If you tell one tale, Will and I'll tell another—and that will be two to one. So you just take care."
She was gone before I could answer, and I shut and locked the door, but I heard them talking loudly in the passage for some minutes.