'How can you be so absurd,' I said, cheering up a bit, 'and I'm not a female thing.'
'You're a very provoking one,' he replied, 'and if there's another interval in Michael's letters, I'm to be told.'
'What does Michael say?' I asked.
'I'm to be told,' he repeated, tilting up my chin.
'So you said before,' I answered, trying to take his hand away, 'but I don't want to worry you with all my woes, you've got enough of your own.'
'My dear child, I could have told you two days ago that as I had heard from Michael his letters to you were only hung up in the post, and you would have been spared all this needless worry. Are you going to tell me in future, or must I order Nannie to bring me all your letters first?' and he tilted my chin still higher.
'I will tell you,' I said weakly, leaning up against him, it seemed the only way to stop him looking at me, 'What does Michael say?'
'That the Power of Attorney he gave me to manage his affairs is now extended to his wife, that there's to be no more reading in bed, no more rackety days in London. Blows me up sky high for letting you work all day and sew miles of little frills at night. Here, I'll read you out the last bit: "Yes, it's all right about the shares. You take quite decent care of my goods, why can't you of my chattel? I'll scrag you if you let her get knocked up; don't take the slightest notice of anything she says, make her obey orders."'
'The audacity of the man, the cheek,' I exclaimed, 'to call me a "chattel," to talk of "orders"—to a person who by Act of Parliament has been put on an equality with himself—to a woman with the vote—to a householder—the autocracy of it!'
'Good word that,' said my aggravating brother, 'but then, you see, Michael isn't exactly Mr Jellaby, and I'm going to see that you do obey orders, and chuck in a few extras of my own—milk and things,' said Ross vaguely. 'Here, get outside this sandwich and have some more coffee for a start, and then up you go to get a rest.'