I was silent.
My cue was to keep cool. I believe that, with the exception, perhaps, of being a little white, and exceedingly sorry that papa should so forget himself, I was about the same as I generally am.
‘Do you hear me?—do you hear what I say?—do you hear me, miss?’
‘Yes, papa; I hear you.’
‘Then—then—then promise me!—promise that you will do as I tell you!—mark my words, my girl, you shall promise before you leave this room!’
‘My dear papa!—do you intend me to spend the remainder of my life in the drawing-room?’
‘Don’t you be impertinent!—do-do-don’t you speak to me like that!—I—I—I won’t have it!’
‘I tell you what it is, papa, if you don’t take care you’ll have another attack of gout.’
‘Damn gout.’
That was the most sensible thing he said; if such a tormentor as gout can be consigned to the nether regions by the mere utterance of a word, by all means let the word be uttered. Off he went again.