The impatient youth turned hastily to leave.
“Please, sir—” said the domestic.
“Well,” said Edgar, stopping.
“You’re sure, sir—” she stopped.
“Well?—go on.”
“That you wouldn’t like to ’ave a cup of tea?”
“Child,” said Edgar, as he turned finally away, “you’re mad—as mad as a March hare.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The small domestic shut the door and retired to the regions below, where, taking the pots and pans and black-beetles into her confidence, she shrieked with delight for full ten minutes, and hugged herself.