Sholto looked timorously round till he met the bright reassuring glance of Lotys, and then he replied hesitatingly—
“Yes!—no—I have not sent the little one to bed;—she returned from her work at the theatre, tired out—quite tired out, poor child! She is asleep now.”
“Ha ha! A few years more, and she will not sleep!” said Zouche—“Once in her teens—”
“Once in her teens, she leaves the theatre and comes to me,” said Lotys, “And you will see very little of her, Zouche, and you will know less! That will do, Sholto! Good-night!”
“Good-night!” returned the hunchback—“I thank you, Madame!—I thank you, gentlemen!”
And with a slight salutation, not devoid of grace, he left the room.
Zouche was sulky, and pushing aside his glass of beer, poured out for himself some strong spirit from a bottle instead.
“You do not favour me to-night, Lotys,” he said irritably—“You interrupt and cross me in everything I say!”
“Is it not a woman’s business to interrupt and cross a man?” queried Lotys, with a laugh,—“As I have told you before, Zouche, I will not have Sholto worried!”
“Who worries him?” grumbled Zouche—“Not I!”