In that saintly voice of hers she said:
“I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me. I don't know what Ernest will think—”
“Ernest be d—-d.”
“I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear.”
Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble. How the devil had he gone on all these years in the same house with that woman, dining with her day after day! But the servant had come back now, and putting down his fork he said:
“Help me up!”
The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced. To leave dinner unfinished—it was a portent!
“Help me up!”
“Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm.”
The old man shook off her hand.