And I did—if it was my last words. Camuels and furrin' parties as brought in packages off of them. Luckily, they was all gone afore the neighbours 'ad time to take notice. [Coming down to table.] And the best thing you and me can do is to let bygones be bygones, and 'old our tongues about it.
Rapkin.
All very fine—but 'ow do we know Mr. Ventimore mayn't be up to more of these 'ere games?
Mrs. Rapkin.
Mr. Ventimore! I did blame him—at first. But I'm sure now as 'e 'ad nothink to do with it. Poor dear young gentleman, we've never known 'im beyave otherwise than as a gentleman, and——[There is a sound outside of rushing wind, as Fakrash swoops down with Horace and both alight on the balcony; Mrs. Rapkin turns, screams, and sinks into a chair on the right of the fireplace.] Bless us and save us! Oh, Mr. Ventimore! [Seeing Fakrash.] And who's that?
Horace.
[Disengaging himself from Fakrash, and stepping in.] That will do, Mrs. Rapkin. Can't I bring a—a friend in with me without your making all this fuss about it?
Mrs. Rapkin.
[Rising, with dignity.] When you and your friends come flyin' in at first-floor windows like pidgins, Mr. Ventimore, you must expect some notice to be took. [Rapkin makes a movement to the left as though fascinated by Fakrash, who stands impassively by the window.] It's giving my 'ouse a bad name, and, as I've always kep' these apartments respectable 'itherto, you'll be good enough to find others where they're less partickler, for put up with it I won't!
Horace.