'If you please, miss, I mean my lady, I only wanted to ask him what he's done with my husband.'
'You only wanted to ask him what?'
'What he's done with my husband.'
I had to put my handkerchief up to my eyes. But it was as much rage as anything; through my feeling such a fool, and, no doubt, looking one. The young lady glanced at the other. I knew what she was thinking, and small blame to her; I could have boxed Mr. FitzHoward's ears for getting me into such a mess.
'I don't understand you. Who are you? And what has my brother to do with your husband?'
'If you please, miss, I mean my lady, my name's Merrett; but my husband's known as Mr. Montagu Babbacombe. He's the famous Mr. Montagu Babbacombe.'
I've a sort of suspicion that the young lady smiled.
'The famous Mr. Montagu Babbacombe? I am afraid that his fame has not reached me. And what has my brother to do with Mr. Babbacombe?'
'That's what I want to know.'
'Where is your husband?'