"Oh, my poor darling! Oh, my poor dear angel! Oh, Mr. Butterby, how could you?"
"Madam," I inquired, in amazement, "how could I what?"
It may be well to state the endearing epithet was applied to Malinda Jane.
"Oh, dear! dear! and all this time she has been scrimping and saving, I was unconscious as a child unborn. Cruel, cruel man!"
Mrs. Lawk, burying her hand in the depths of her pocket, drew forth an attenuated handkerchief, and carefully wiped her eyes.
"Please, ma——" interrupted Malinda Jane.
"Never, never again shall you leave my protecting wing. Oh, inhuman monster, how could you be so heartless?"
"Monster" was given with a decidedly unpleasant bite, and recalled my calmness.
"Mrs. Mountchessington Lawk," I placidly observed, "I have not the remotest idea what you are talking about."
"Moses Butterby, you're a brute."