Ah, were even they within her reach? Sounds of wrangling and strife assailed her ears as she neared the door of the little back room where Hetty had entertained her the previous night. Opening it, this was the scene which presented itself:
The gas was blazing high, and just beneath it Araminta lolled back in an arm-chair, her feet propped up on the seat of another, and a paper-covered novel in her hand, which Lucian, standing over her puffing away at a cigar, seemed to be trying to wrest from her.
“See here, Miss Mintstick,” he was saying, “I got this out of the library for my own enjoyment, so just give it up.”
“You hateful fellow!” she cried, “you know I can’t bear to be called that, and I’ll just tell mother of you if you don’t stop it.”
“Oh, it’s a baby, is it? and mustn’t be teased,” he said jeeringly; whereat Araminta burst into tears, and again threatened to “tell mother of him.”
“Come, it’s quite too young to read novels,” he said, with another and successful effort to take it from her.
“So are you too, Miss Lucy Ann! There! take that!” she retorted, giving him a resounding slap upon the cheek.
Flushing crimson, he seized her by the wrist.
“See here, young woman!” he hissed in a tone of concentrated fury.
But becoming suddenly aware of Floy’s presence, and that she was standing gazing upon them in disgust and astonishment, he turned shamefacedly away, muttering, “A man can’t stand everything!” and would have beaten a hasty retreat, but encountered his mother in the doorway.