“Tom!” cried her ladyship.
“Oh, milord Thomas, it is not so,” cried Justine, shaking her head.
“Oh yes,” cried Tom, sarcastically. “Such a nice change. You adore music, mamma, and the signor can attend your reunions with his instrument.”
“Tom, you are killing me. Oh, that I was ever a mother.”
“It will be grand,” cried Tom, rubbing his hands. “Maude can sing too, and take a turn at the handle when the signor gets tired.”
“Take what money you want, Tom,” sobbed her ladyship, and she handed her keys.
Tom smiled grimly, took the keys, and did take what money he wanted—all there was—from a small cabinet on a side table.
“Where—where are you going?” sighed her ladyship.
“Where!” said Tom, “everywhere. To bring poor Maude home.”
“No, no, Tom, impossible—impossible,” cried her ladyship.