Have ye seen the paper this morning yet? Ma'am.
(The address of respect is thrown in by way of afterthought, or, as it were, reluctantly. Having to be in character, his way is to tread heavily on the border-line which divides familiarity from respect.)
QUEEN. Not yet.
MR. J.B. (departing). I'll bring it for ye, now.
QUEEN. You had better send it.
J.B. (turning about). What did ye say? … Ma'am.
QUEEN. "Send it," Brown, I said. Mop mustn't be hurried. Take him round by the stables.
(He goes: and the Queen, with a soft, indulgent smile, that slowly flickers out as the labour of composition proceeds, resumes her writing.)
(Presently ENTERS a liveried Footman, who stands at attention with the paper upon a salver. Touching the table at her side as an indication, the Queen continues to write. With gingerly reverence the man lays down the paper and goes. Twice she looks at it before taking it up; then she unfolds it; then lays it down, and takes out her glasses; then begins reading. Evidently she comes on something she does not like; she pats the table impatiently, then exclaims:)
Most extraordinary!