The woman, pushing her way forward, stood before him, her arms akimbo, demanding, insolently, “Well, sir—well?”
“Announce to Mr. Charles Craike my arrival. Tell him that I require to see him at once. At once! D’ye hear me?”
“Hoity-toity!” cried the woman, bridling. “Who are you to be orderin’ me?”—but quailed and recoiled before Mr. Bradbury’s sudden darkling anger.
“D’ye hear me?” Mr. Bradbury repeated. “D’ye understand me, baggage? At once!”
“What is this?”—and my uncle, seeming to have been summoned on the admission of Mr. Bradbury and his men, stood in the doorway.
“Ah, my dear sir!” Mr. Bradbury exclaimed, stepping forward, his hand outstretched.
“Mr. Bradbury,” said my uncle coolly, “your coming’s most inopportune!”
“I realise it,” Mr. Bradbury agreed readily. “Most inopportune!”
“My father’s sudden seizure! He’s nigh to death.”
“My profound sympathy, sir, with you in your natural grief. My profound sympathy! Pray conduct me to him!”