Fishpingle comforted her.
“There, there, my maid! You obey me. I tell you to go to your room and have a nice comfortable cry. Off with you!”
The Squire added a word:
“And keep out of my shrubberies, confound you!”
Prudence left Fishpingle’s arms, and turned to the Squire, with tears rolling down her cheeks. She said defiantly:
“I know where I be going—quick!”
She bolted, slamming the door.
“The minx! Where is she going?”
Fishpingle couldn’t inform him. Possibly to her mother, who was head laundry-maid. The Squire addressed Alfred.
“You can go, Alfred, but I warn you not to follow that pert, ungrateful girl. And—in case you should be tempted to disobey me, bring me at once a large whisky and soda.”