“Which is entirely attributable,” said Kate, unable to resist keeping up the vein, “to the gross misconduct and most improper behaviour of Mr. Mantalini.”
“Of me, my essential juice of pineapple!”
“Of you, Sir!”
“Will she call me, Sir!” cried Hugh, “me who doat upon her with the demdest ardour! She, who coils her fascination round me like a pure and angelic rattlesnake! It will be all up with my feelings; she will throw me into a demd state.”
“Hugh,” said Kate, “it is far too serious a matter for nonsense. I consider it was not only unkind but unmanly.”
“My cup of happiness’s sweetener,” said Hugh, as he took out his pipe and his tobacco and his matches with much deliberation. “You brought it upon her yourself and she has you to blame.” He filled his pipe with tobacco and rammed it well in. “It will be a lesson to you”—he struck a match—“and I trust to her”—he tilted his chair back and puffed once or twice—“to let an inoffensive man go on his way unmolested. And now my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.”
“But you might have given her the lesson privately,” persisted Kate, and her eyes [p140] kindled. “The unmanly part comes in when you callously allow her to become the laughing-stock of town.”
“What!” thundered Hugh, and he brought his chair so suddenly and heavily back to its four-legged condition that the frail thing responded with an ominous creak. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Didn’t you know she was going to sign the interview with her own name?” asked Kate, glad to find there might be some extenuating circumstances.
“You don’t mean seriously to tell me she’s gone and published that fool of an interview?” Hugh shouted.