“Who said there was anything the matter with him?” demanded Bart. “He’s all right!”
“Then why does he rouse the whole house four times during the night?”
“Why shouldn’t he? His house, isn’t it?”
“He’s as selfish as the rest of you! He wouldn’t care if Eugene got ill again!”
Raymond got up from the table, and collected his letters. “You’d better tell him so,” he advised.
“I shall tell him so. I’m not afraid of him, whatever you may be!”
“Ah, you’re a grand girl, surely!” Bart said, lounging over to where she stood, and putting an arm round her shoulders. “Loo in, my dear, loo in! Give me a bitch-pack every time!”
She pushed him angrily away. “Oh, shut up!”
At this moment Reuben came in. “Was it one of you, ringing?” he asked severely.
“It was I,” said Vivian, in a cold voice. “Mr Eugene can’t eat the toast Sybilla sent up to him. Please tell her to make some more, thin, and not burnt!”