“Now don’t be cruel, Mr Eddard,” said the housemaid, tittering, when “Mr Eddard” himself condescended to laugh at what our Scotch brethren would call his own “wut,” to the great discomfiture of cook, who wanted to fire-up and give them a bit of her mind, but did not dare, for fear of losing the end of the coveted history. The consequence of her reticence, though, was that “Mr Eddard” grew exceedingly amiable, and went on with his account.
“That door being shut,” he said, with a grim smile, which was meant to be pleasant, but was the very reverse, “I didn’t want to go; for I put it to you now, under the circumstances, was it likely as he’d stay long?”
“Of course not!” said cook.
“Not likely!” said the housemaid.
“Well, then,” continued Edward, “where was the use of me going back to my pantry only to be called directly? So I took his hat and brushed it, and when I’d brushed it and set it down, I set to and brushed it again, and so on half a dozen times, while—it was very foolish of them if they didn’t want other people to hear—they kept on talking louder and louder.
“‘Mr Vining,’ says missus, ‘I must ask you as a gentleman to come no more.’
“‘But, in ’evin’s name,’ he says, ‘what have I done that you should turn upon me like this?’
“‘Nothing,’ says missus; ‘nothing at all. I pity you from the bottom of my heart, as much as I pity that sweet girl; but it cannot be. You must come here no more.’
“‘Are you a woman?’ he says. ‘Have you feeling? Can you form any idea of the pain your words are giving me?’
“‘Yes, yes, yes,’ says missus. ‘Mr Vining, why do you force me to speak? I do not wish to cause trouble, but you drive me to do so.’