Julia started and wrung her hands.
A bland smile came over the face of Netherby Gomme:
“We have repeatedly pointed out to the landlord,” said he, “that the large glass door at the foot of the stairs is a source of considerable danger to any person proceeding down the staircase at an accelerated pace.”
Julia came out from behind the door, and ran to Gomme:
“Netherby,” said she, “it made a horrible noise.” She wrung her hands, grasped his arm. “I hope to goodness you haven’t dashed that stupid man’s brains out.”
Netherby put his hand on her shoulder gently:
“It cannot be done, Julia,” said he. “No jury would convict on so weak a charge.”
The tears sprang into Julia’s eyes:
“I hate to see men quarrel,” said she petulantly; “they always push each other about instead of reasoning.”
Gomme laughed loud and long: