"Ah, what may that be, missy? By the way, Fluff, you will oblige me very much if you will call Frances here. This paraffine lamp has never been trimmed—if I light it, it will smell abominably; it is really careless of Frances to neglect my comforts in this way. Oblige me by calling her, Fluff; she must have finished her tea by this time."
"I'm not going to oblige you in that way," said Fluff. "Frances is particularly engaged—she can't come. Do you know he came all the way from Australia on purpose? What can a lamp matter?"
"What a lot of rubbish you're talking, child! Who came from Australia? Oh, that tiresome Arnold! A lamp does matter, for I want to read."
"Well, then, I'll attend to it," said Fluff. "What is the matter with it?"
"The wick isn't straight—the thing will smell, I tell you."
"I suppose I can put it right. I never touched a lamp before in my life. Where does the wick come?"
"Do be careful, Ellen, you will smash that lamp—it cost three and sixpence. There, I knew you would; you've done it now."
The glass globe lay in fragments on the floor. Fluff gazed at the broken pieces comically.
"Frances would have managed it all right," she said. "What a useless little thing I am! I can do nothing but dance and sing and talk. Shall I talk to you, squire? We don't want light to talk, and I'm dying to tell you what I've discovered."
"Well, child, well—I hate a mess on the floor like that. Well, what is it you've got to say to me, Fluff? It's really unreasonable of Frances not to come. She must have finished her tea long ago."