“The room on my landing-place, without double doors? Impossible! Clarence is always smoking. Clarence will fill the whole house with his smoke. He shall not sleep in the pink room. I expected the ground-floor room for him, which—a—this gentleman persists in not vacating.” And the dear creature looked me full in the face.
“This gentleman smokes, too, and is so comfortable where he is, that he proposes to remain there,” I say, with a bland smile.
“Haspic of plovers’ eggs, sir,” says Bedford, handing a dish over my back. And he actually gave me a little dig, and growled, “Go it—give it her.”
“There is a capital inn on the Heath,” I continue, peeling one of my opal favourites. “If Captain Baker must smoke, he may have a room there.”
“Sir! my son does not live at inns,” cries Lady Baker.
“Oh, grandma! Don’t he though? And wasn’t there a row at the Star and Garter; and didn’t Pa pay uncle Clarence’s bill there, though?”
“Silence, Popham. Little boys should be seen and not heard,” says Cissy. “Shouldn’t little boys be seen and not heard, Miss Prior?”
“They shouldn’t insult their grandmothers. O my Cecilia—my Cecilia!” cries Lady Baker, lifting her hand.
“You shan’t hit me! I say, you shan’t hit me!” roars Pop, starting back, and beginning to square at his enraged ancestress. The scene was growing painful. And there was that rascal of a Bedford choking with suppressed laughter at the sideboard. Bulkeley, her ladyship’s man, stood calm as fate; but young Buttons burst out in a guffaw; on which, I assure you, Lady Baker looked as savage as Lady Macbeth.
“Am I to be insulted by my daughter’s servants?” cries Lady Baker. “I will leave the house this instant.”