“I beg your pardon,” began Reginald.
“Love, indeed! I’d like to scratch you, so I would!” cried the lady, with a gesture so ominously like suiting the action to the word, that Reginald fairly deserted his post and retreated two full paces.
This was getting critical. Either the lady was mad, or she had mistaken Reginald for some one else. In either case he felt utterly powerless to deal with the difficulty. So like a prudent man he decided to hold his tongue and let the lady explain herself.
“Love, indeed!” said she, for the third time. “You saucy jackanapes, you. No, sir, my name’s Wrigley!”
She evidently supposed this announcement would fall like a thunderbolt on the head of her victim, and it disconcerted her not a little when he merely raised his eyebrows and inclined his head politely.
“Now do you know what I’m come about?” said she.
“No,” replied he.
“Yes you do. You needn’t think to deceive me, sir. It won’t do, I can tell you.”
“I really don’t know,” said poor Reginald. “Who are you?”
“I’m the lady who ordered the globe and blackboard, and sent two pounds along with the order to you, Mr Cruden Reginald. There! Now perhaps you know what I’ve come for!”