‘I do not think I can promise,’ said Phyllis.
‘O yes, you can,’ said Reginald, ‘you know they are not his.’
‘Promise you will not let out any insects I may get,’ said Maurice, ‘or I shall say you are as cross as two sticks.’
‘I’ll tell you what, Maurice,’ said Phyllis, ‘I do wish you would not make me promise, for I do not think I can keep it, for I cannot bear to see the beautiful live things killed.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Maurice, fiercely, ‘I am very angry indeed, you naughty child; promise—’
‘I cannot,’ said Phyllis, beginning to cry.
‘Then,’ said Maurice, ‘I will not speak to you all day.’
‘No, no,’ shouted Reginald, ‘we will only treat her like the horse-stinger; you wanted a puella, Maurice—here is one for you, here, give her a dose of the turpentine.’
‘Yes,’ said Maurice, advancing with his bottle; ‘and do you take the poker down to Naylor’s to be sharpened, it will just do to stick through her back. Oh! no, not Naylor’s—the girls have made a hash there, as they do everything else; but we will settle her before they come out again.’
Phyllis screamed and begged for mercy—her last ally had deserted her.