M'Guinness turned upon him, but observing that he carried a pistol in each hand, he contented himself with muttering a curse and lowering the poker which he held in his hand.
"Why, what the devil—your own servants—your own man and woman!" exclaimed Mr. Audley. "I beg your pardon, sir—pray excuse me, Mr. French; perhaps I ought not to have intruded upon you."
"Pray don't go, Mr. Audley—don't think of going," said Oliver, eagerly, observing that his visitor was drawing to the door. "These beasts will murder me if you leave me; I can't help myself—do stay."
"Pray, madam, you are the amiable and remarkably quiet gentlewoman with whom I was to-day honoured by an interview? God bless my body and soul, can it possibly be?" said Mr. Audley, addressing himself to the lady.
"You vile old swindling schemer," shrieked she, returning—"you skulking, mean dog—you brandy-faced old reprobate, you—hoo! wait, wait—wait awhile; I'll master you yet—just wait—never mind—hoo!" and with something like an Indian war-whoop she dashed out of the room.
"Get out of this apartment, you ruffian, you—M'Guinness, get out of the room," cried old French, addressing the fellow, who still stood grinning and growling there.
"No, I'll not till I do my business," retorted the man, doggedly; "I'll put you to bed first. I've a right to do my own business; I'll undress you and put you to bed first—bellows me, but I will."
"Mr. Audley, I beg pardon for troubling you," said Oliver, "but will you pull the bell if you please, like the very devil."
"Pull away till you are black in the face; I'll not stir," retorted M'Guinness.
Mr. Audley pulled the bell with a sustained vehemence which it put Mr. French into a perspiration even to witness.