“I’m sure you did, Miss Wewitz.”
“How often am I to tell you not to contradict, Miss? I tell you I didn’t.”
“I’m sure I don’t wish to contradict, ma’am, but I’m quite certain you did.”
“There, you are contradicting again, Miss,—for I say, once for all, I didn’t.”
“Well, then, I say you did.”
“Hold your tongue, Miss Chutney, and remember whom you’re speaking to. Have I not informed you, Miss, that I did no such thing?”
“Well, I don’t care, but I’ll stand to it as long as I’ve got a word to say—you did lock me up alone with the Frenchman,—so there!” cried the headstrong East Indian.
Miss Wewitz drew herself up as erect as she could, and said, in her very mildest tones, as if she were in no way annoyed by what the young lady had spoken, though inwardly she could scarcely contain herself for passion,—“Very well, Miss; we will see who is mistress in this establishment; so, if you please, you will come with me, and I shall lock you up in the linen-room at the top of the house until you are willing to acknowledge your fault, and beg my pardon. There, go along with you, do! I’m quite astonished at your bad behaviour,—and after all I’ve done for you!” And with these words Miss Wewitz pushed the sobbing and muttering girl up the stairs before her.