The last member was "Bucyrus." As I knew his parents wished to be alone with him at first I kept out of the way, breakfasting in my rooms, lunching and dining out a great deal. What little I saw of him I didn't like. He ignored me most of the time—and I, for one woman, don't like to be ignored by any man. When he did speak to me it was as they speak to the governess in families where they haven't been used to very much for very long. Perhaps this piqued me a little, but it certainly amused me, and I spoke to him in an humble, deferential way that seemed somehow to make him uneasy.
It was day before yesterday that he came into my office about an hour after luncheon. He tried to look very dignified and superior.
"Miss Talltowers," he said, "I must request you to refrain from calling me sir whenever you address me."
"I beg your pardon, sir," I replied meekly, "but I have never addressed you. I hope I know my place and my duty better than that. Oh, no, sir, I have always waited to be spoken to."
He blazed a furious red. "I must request you," he said, with his speech at its most fancy-work like, "not to continue your present manner toward me. Why, the very servants are laughing at me."
"Oh, sir," I said earnestly, "I'm sure that's not my fault." And I didn't spoil it by putting accent on the "that" and the "my."
He got as pale as he had been red. "Are you trying to make it impossible for us to remain under the same roof?" he demanded. What a spoiled stupid!
"I'm sure, sir," said I, and I think my eyes must have shown what an unpleasant mood his hinted threat had put me in, "that I'm not even succeeding in making it impossible for us to remain in my private office at the same time. Do you understand me, or do you wish me to make my meaning—"
He had given a sort of snort and had rushed from the room.
I suppose I ought to be more charitable toward him. A small person, brought up to regard himself as a sort of god, and able to buy flattery, and permitted to act precisely as his humors might suggest—what is to be expected of such a man? No, not a man but boy, for he's only twenty-six. Only twenty-six! One would think I was forty to hear me talking in that way of twenty-six. But women always seem older than men who are even many years older than they. And how having to earn my own bread has aged me inside! I think Jessie was right when she said in that solemn way of hers, "And although, dear Augusta, they may think you haven't brains enough, I assure you you'll develop them." Poor, dear Jessie! How she would amuse herself if she could be as she is, and also have a sense of humor!