“But I haven’t been in the garden, Maria,” said Dexter, apologetically. “I have just come out of the study.”
“Don’t I tell you she ain’t at home,” said Maria spitefully.
“Do you know when she will be back!”
“No, I don’t,” said Maria, and then sarcastically: “I beg your pardon, sir—no I don’t, sir.”
Maria went along the passage like a roaring wind, she made so much noise with her skirts, and then hurried downstairs, as if in great haste to get hold of a door that she could bang; and as soon as she did reach one, she made so much use of her opportunity that a picture in the hall was blown sidewise, and began swinging to and fro like a great square pendulum.
Dexter sighed, and felt very miserable as he stole downstairs again, and past the study door, where the murmur of voices talking, as he knew, about him made him shiver.
He was obliged to pass that door to get his cap, and then he had to pass it again to get to the garden door.
Mr Limpney was talking, and Mr Limpney, being accustomed to lecture and teach, spoke very loudly, so that Dexter heard him say—
“I must have more authority, sir, and—”
Dexter heard no more, for he fled into the garden, but he knew that having authority meant the same as it meant with Mr Sibery, and it sounded like going backwards.