Dazedly he put a hand to his head.
“No one ’as never speak to me so—nevare,” he announced dramatically. “Eef you was a man——”
“Be thankful,” said Miss Crail, “that I am not. Why, you wouldn’t ride for weeks,” she added pleasantly.
Labotte blenched. The reflection, however, that sex cannot be changed at will steadied him almost at once.
He took a pace backward and bowed.
“I go,” he said stiffly, “bud nod begauze you ’af say so. No.” Susan began to shake with laughter. “The only reason wot I ’af got ees that I will blease myselve. Oh, yes. Eet ees very fine to laugh,” he added violently. “It ees a gread jork to make slaps when you are very safe that they cannot be render: but eet ees you shall waid, Mees Crail, an’ fin’ whether you shall ’af make these blace too ’ott for you to ’old.”
He turned and sauntered away with such nonchalance as he could muster.
When he was out of sight, Susan went to her room, sank into a chair, buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Upon the next floor Nicholas was pulling his moustache and covering his third mile upon an Aubusson carpet of great beauty.
Three rooms away Labotte was savaging a pillow.