William was annoyed.
“It’s not funny,” he said irritably. “It’s jolly well not funny. You’re kidnapped. That’s what you are. Unhand the maiden, dog,” he said to Ginger.
Ginger was looking rather sulky. “All right, I’m not handing her,” he said, “an’ when you’ve quite finished with the liquorice water——”
“Grog,” corrected William, sternly.
“Well, grog, then, an’ I helped to make it, p’raps you’ll let me have a drink.”
William handed him the bottle, with a flourish.
“Finish it, dog,” he said, with a short, scornful laugh.
The vibration of the short, scornful laugh caused his bacchic mask (never very secure) to fall off on to the packing-case. Lady Barbara gave another scream of ecstasy.
“Oh, do it again, boy,” she said.
William glanced at her coldly, and put on the mask again. Then he swept her a stately bow, holding on to his mask with one hand.