"Ratty, you wretch!" cried Augusta, kicking at the door, "let me out!"
"Not a bit, till you promise."
"Oh, fie, Maste' O'Gwady!" said Furlong.
"I'll scream, Ratty, if you don't let me out!" cried Augusta.
"If you screech, papa will hear you, and then he'll come up and kill that fellow there."
"Oh, don't squeam, Miss O'Gwady!" said Furlong, very vivaciously, from the bed-curtains; "don't squeam, pway!"
"I'm not squeamish, sir," said Miss Augusta; "but it's dreadful to be shut up with a man who has no clothes on him. Let me out, Ratty—let me out!"
"Well, will you tell on us?"
"No."
"'Pon your honour?"