I could not understand why he seemed so mad about it.
"I don't see, in any case, what it's got to do with you," I said, "but, as a matter of fact, she isn't."
"Isn't what?" he said, stopping short and turning on me.
"Isn't going to marry him," I answered.
"Why not?" he demanded.
"Better ask her," I suggested.
I didn't know at the time that it was a silly thing to say, and I am not sure that I should not have said it if I had. When he is in one of his moods I always seem to get into one of mine. I have looked after Mr. John ever since he was a baby, so that we do not either of us treat the other quite as perhaps we ought to.
"Tell cook I want her," he said.
"She is just in the middle—" I began.
"I don't care where she is," he said. He seemed determined never to let me finish a sentence. "Send her up here."