“Madam,” he retorted angrily, “in my condition, I should perish of the heat.”
“Sir,” she replied serenely, “I will lend you a fan.”
Copyright, 1898, by Lamson, Wolffe and Company
Her ladyship tilted her chin in the air.
His lordship gasped. The spectacle she invoked of himself sitting in a closed chair, energetically fanning himself through the long night, incensed him beyond the power of speech for several moments.
“Fy, fy, Lady Phipps,” he said at last, wagging his head at her, “is this the way you Puritan wives are taught to honour your husbands’ guests?”
“Where should I find such another glass door?” quoth she.
“Very well, madam,” retorted he, “not one step do I go toward Salem, and that little maid may go hang, and her death will be due to your vanities and worldlinesses.”