“Here, sir.”
“Nurse, I won’t have Jack allowed to run. Whenever that boy perspires he catches cold. Hang up his hoop. If he cries, take him into my dressing-room and show him the birch-rod. Matilda?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What the devil do they mean by daubing all that grease over Mary’s hair? It’s beastly to see it—do you hear?—beastly! Where’s Pamby?” (Pamby is the unfortunate workwoman who makes and mends the family linen.)
“Here, sir.”
“Pamby, what are you about now?”
No answer. Pamby, or somebody else, giggles faintly. The major flourishes his cane in a fury.
“Why the devil don’t you answer me? I give you three seconds to answer me, or leave the house. One—two—three. Pamby! what are you about now?”
“If you please, sir, I’m doing something——”
“What?”