“You’re to go with Bell to-day and get rigged out,” said Strange.
“Yes, sir, thank your honour, but I’ve took notice of them pants and sich as were sent to your honour and ’ave hordered the same for myself barrin’ a worser quality.”
“Well, upon my word!”
“Arrivin’ at Suez without nothin’ to suit the climate might ’ave inconvenienced your honour,” remarked Tolly, with bland consideration. “I have likewise perwided a breechloader and a rewolver.”
“Oh, have you? Bring me those weapons without a moment’s delay, and then go with Bell and get your outfit; I pay for those pants, and now, don’t go about the place crowing over the other servants.”
“Oh Lord, sir, if you were to hear them over my teeth you’d take back that order. Seein’ likewise that the teeth came out of your honour’s own pocket and are a credit to your establishment, as the dentist hisself said.”
“Will you be good enough to go to the devil, Tolly, I’m busy.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tolly, and he took himself off to crow conscientiously the rest of the day.
For the next two months Gwen comported herself to the satisfaction of no one; she was reticent with the Fellowes, and her mother simply appalled her.
Mrs. Waring’s nervous gentle little attempts at being a mother; the delicate tendrils she kept constantly throwing out in her daughter’s direction; her queer quaint experiments in the expression of the emotions, simply worried Gwen to death. She refused to let herself see the pathos of it all, or to be touched.