"Is it for the kettle, ma'am?" said Cudmore, with a voice that startled the whole room, disconcerting three whist parties, and so absorbing the attention of the people at loo, that the pool disappeared without any one being able to account for the circumstance.
"Is it for the kettle, ma'am?"
"If you will be so very kind," lisped the hostess.
"Well, then, upon my conscience, you are impudent," said Cudmore, with his face crimsoned to the ears, and his eyes flashing fire.
"Why, Mr. Cudmore," began the lady, "why, really, this is so strange. Why sir, what can you mean?"
"Just that," said the imperturbable jib, who now that his courage was up, dared every thing.
"But sir, you must surely have misunderstood me. I only asked for the kettle, Mr. Cudmore."
"The devil a more," said Cud, with a sneer.
"Well, then, of course"—
"Well, then, I'll tell you, of course," said he, repeating her words; "the sorrow taste of the kettle, I'll give you. Call you own skip—Blue Pether there—damn me, if I'll be your skip any longer."