“A blackguardly old scoundrel!” floated through the window.
“Yes? my lord.”
“Ah! I am, am I?” cried the Doctor. “Let go, Very.”
“No, papa dear: never.”
“Out, I suppose?” came, as if shouted for the inmates of the cottage to hear.
“I will be directly, you pompous, titled bully,” muttered the Doctor.
“Buzz-buzz—buzz-buzz,” in two different keys.
“Yes, I suppose so,” cried his lordship; “but if he thinks he is going to defeat me he is sadly mistaken.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Very! will you untie those wretched little arms of yours from about my neck?”