“But, Martha—”
“Hold your tongue, I say. Bringing home here his evil companions, for whom nothing’s good enough; and they must have the best wines, and turn my dining-room into a tap-room with their nasty smoke. I won’t have it, I tell you—I won’t have it.”
“But, Martha, dear, you are so rash; come to bed now, and sleep on it all.”
“Not till every light is out in this house will I stir. Sitting smoking, and diceing, and gambling there at this time of night.”
“Were they, my dear?” said the butler, mildly.
“Yes, with gold by their sides, playing for sovereigns; and that black-looking captain had actually got a five-pound note on the table. We shall all come to ruin.”
“Yes, that we shall, if you forget your place,” said the butler, pitifully, as he gave his pillow a punch.
“Forget my place, indeed!” retorted his wife; “have I been plotting and planning all these years for nothing? Have I brought matters to this pitch to be treated in this way, to be turned upon by an ungrateful boy, with his rough, sea-going ways? This isn’t the quarter-deck of a ship—do you hear what I say?—this isn’t the quarter-deck of a ship.”
“No, my dear, of course it isn’t,” said the butler, mildly—“it’s our bedroom,” he added to himself.
“But I’ll bring him to himself in the morning, see if I don’t,” she said, folding her arms, and speaking fiercely. “I’ll soon let him know who I am—an overbearing, obstinate, mad—are you asleep, Lloyd?”