She wrote a few words, folded the paper up small, and was taking some silk from her work-basket, when a cough on the stairs made her start and return to her chair.
“She will see the dog and be so angry,” thought Maude, as the rustling of silk proclaimed the coming of her ladyship, when, to her great joy Joby uttered a low growl and dived at once beneath the couch, where he curled himself up completely out of sight.
“Maude,” said her ladyship, in an ill-used tone, “you are not looking so well as you should.”
“Indeed, mamma?”
“By no means, child; and as I am speaking to you, I may as well say that I could not help noticing last night that you were almost rude to Sir Grantley Wilters. I must beg that it does not occur again.”
“Mamma!”
“There, there, there, that will do,” said her ladyship, “not a word. I am going out, and I cannot be made nervous by your silly nonsense.”
“Indeed, mamma, I—”
“I will not hear excuses,” cried her ladyship. “I tell you I am going out. If Sir Grantley Wilters calls, I insist upon your treating him with proper consideration. As I have told you, and I repeat it once for all, that silly flirtation with Mr Melton is quite at an end, and now we must be serious.”
“Serious, mamma!” cried Maude, rising; “I assure you—”