“I say you shall, sir. Sit down. Think I’m going to let her show her airs to you.”
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense!”
“Hold your tongue. I know what I’m talking about. She’s got Clive on the brain. Always throwing my brother at me. Scoundrel about poor Lyddy Milsom, but she can’t let him drop.”
“Mr Wrigley, I will see to my husband,” said Janet coldly. “You will excuse me; it is getting late.”
“Really, I beg your pardon,” said Wrigley, speaking with gentlemanly deference. “Yes, it will be better. Good-night, Mrs Reed. I am very sorry he should have been so affected, but it is really nothing. Believe me.”
“Hold your tongue, will you? Mind your own business,” cried Jessop sharply. “I know what you’re saying.”
“All right, old fellow. Get up to bed now. Good-night.”
Jessop made a dash at his wrist and held it fast.
“Sit down. Not going yet. I’m master here. Won’t go and fetch the soda and brandy, won’t she? Very well; then she shall hear something she won’t like. Look here, madam, what do you say to our dear brother now? On the stilts, is he? Well, then, he has got to come down.”
“Here, that will do, my dear Jessop,” said Wrigley, with a hurried laugh. “Don’t take any notice, Mrs Reed.”