"Removing me! Where the deuce to?"
"Sir, I care not whither so long as it is hence," cried Fritzing, passionately striding to the door.
Mr. Dawson lay back in his chair and gasped. The man was plainly mad; but still Lady Shuttleworth might—you never know with women—"Look here—hie, you! Mr. Newman!" he called, for Fritzing had torn open the door and was through it.
"Neumann, sir," Fritzing hurled back at him over his shoulder.
"Lady Shuttleworth won't see you, Mr. Noyman. She won't on principle."
Fritzing wavered.
"Everything goes through my hands. You'll only have your walk for nothing. Come back and tell me what it is you want."
"Sir, I will only negotiate with you," said Fritzing down the passage—and Mrs. Dawson hearing him from the drawing-room folded her hands in fear and wonder—"if you will undertake at least to imitate the manners of a gentleman."
"Come, come, you musn't misunderstand me," said Mr. Dawson getting up and going to the door. "I'm a plain man, you know—"
"Then, sir, all I can say is that I object to plain men."