“Go out of the room directly,” I said.
“Oh, I’m a-going! You can give me notice if you like. I’m sick of your twopenny-halfpenny public-house. I’ve always lived with gentlefolk before, and been treated as such.”
“Go out of the room!” I shouted, stamping my foot; “and go out of the house.”
“Yes, I will. I’ll go now, this very minute; but I want a month’s money.”
“You sha’n’t have a penny more than’s due to you, you impudent hussy!” I said. “There!” and I banged her wages up to date down on the table; “there’s your money. Now go and pack your box and be off, or I shall have you turned out.”
She took the money, counted it, and then threw it on the table.
“I want a month’s money or a month’s notice,” she said.
“Then you’ll have to get it,” I said. “Be off, or I’ll send for a policeman.”
“Oh!—hadn’t you better send for the one who used to cuddle you in the kitchen, while your other chap was away at sea?”
I did lose my temper at that. It was more than human flesh and blood could bear. I gave a little scream, and then I ran at her, took her by the shoulders, and ran her right out of the room, and banged the door in her face and locked it. And then I fell back into a chair; and if I hadn’t cried I should have had hysterics.