“I propose in future,” she said, “to have a bowl of flowers upon it and merely a very few of our latest books.”
Depleted as I felt, I yet retained command of myself.
“But, my dear Miss Botterill,” I said, “permit me to remind you that your duty is to obey and not propose. You will therefore kindly restore the counter to its previous appearance and remember in future that you are not show-room manager.”
“But I am,” she said.
She continued her rearranging.
Deprived of breath, I could only stand and watch her.
Then I leapt forward and gripped her shoulder.
“Oh, how dare you?” I cried. “How dare you, woman?”
She began to scream. But I declined to let her go until several of the clerks had emerged from the correspondence room. Then I flung her from me heavily, turned upon my heel, and instantly proceeded to Mr. Chrysostom’s office. He was standing at the door.
“What’s all this screaming?” he said.