And up he gets and goes out.
She never moved her head, and spoke as though she was merely giving me some order, and I stands behind her chair, respectful like, and answers according to the same tip,
“Ever hear from ‘Kipper’?” she says to me.
“I have had one or two letters from him, your ladyship,” I answers.
“Oh, stow that,” she says. “I am sick of ‘your ladyship.’ Talk English; I don’t hear much of it. How’s he getting on?”
“Seems to be doing himself well,” I says. “He’s started an hotel, and is regular raking it in, he tells me.”
“Wish I was behind the bar with him!” says she.
“Why, don’t it work then?” I asks.
“It’s just like a funeral with the corpse left out,” says she. “Serves me jolly well right for being a fool!”
The Marquis, he comes back with her cloak at that moment, and I says: “Certainement, madame,” and gets clear.