"What and painting her face, too? Same as Jezebel."
My lady's waiting-woman, Arabella, came in. She minced in the manner of her mistress, but, being a foot shorter, with different effect. She stood before Sir John, who had the largest chair, and stared at him, with languid insolence. "Ods my life, don't ogle me, woman," says he.
"At your leisure, sir, if you please." She tossed her head.
"Leisure! Oh Lord, I'm at leisure, thank 'e."
Arabella sniffed.
"I think you are in madame's chair, sir," Mr. Hadley explained.
"What, then? She ain't here, nor I don't carry the plague."
"The lady-in-waiting wants to compose it for madame."
"Compose!" Sir John exploded an oath, and jumped up. "I ha'n't decomposed it."
Arabella dusted the chair, wheeled it a little this way and that, put two footstools before it, and three cushions into it, contemplated them for some time, and then shifted them a little. After which she minced out with a great sigh.