“Me?” he said. “Ha!”
He wished he had a mask, because, though he felt he could manage the smile quite well, the narrative had said nothing about the expression of the upper part of Rudolph of the Red Hand’s face. However, he felt that his customary scowl would do quite well.
“You’ll come, dear, won’t you?” said Mrs. Brown sweetly.
“I wouldn’t make him,” said Ethel nervously. “You know what he’s like sometimes.”
Mrs. Brown knew. William—a mute, scowling protest—was no ornament to a drawing-room.
“But wouldn’t you like to meet the little girl?” said Mrs. Brown persuasively.
“Huh!” ejaculated William.
The monosyllable looks weak and meaningless in print. As William pronounced it, it was pregnant with scorn and derision and sinister meaning. He curled imaginary moustachios as he uttered it. He looked round upon his assembled family. Then he uttered the monosyllable again with a yet more sinister smile and scowl. He wondered if Rudolph of the Red Hand had a mother who tried to make him go out to tea. He decided that he probably hadn’t. Life would be much simpler if you hadn’t.
With another short, sharp “Ha!” he left the room.
*****