An exclamation came from the short girl as the tall sister took a pair of pince-nez from her breast, and, with great care, put on these new decorations in order to assist her in giving the answer.
“A bottle like that would ‘run into,’” she explained with a short laugh as she quoted Erb, “about, what shall I say, six or seven shillings.”
“You can take it back,” he said shortly.
“Bra-vo, Erb,” whispered Louisa.
“I’m not going to be indebted,” said Erb, leaning his fists on the deal table, “to Eaton Square or any other haunt of the aristocracy for philanthropy of any kind or description whatever, not even when they are not aware that they’re giving anything away. I should be stultifying meself if I did. If Louisa or me wants Burgundy we can buy it at the grocer’s, and, if necessary, go as far as to drink it, with the satisfied feeling that we’re not beholden to any one. Eh, Louisa?”
“You’ve hit it in once,” agreed the short sister. “Cigar or coker-nut?”
“Therefore, whilst thankin’ you, one and all, for your doubtless well-meant kindness, perhaps, Alice, you’ll understand that my principles—”
“You needn’t bang the table about,” interrupted the tall sister.
“It’s ours,” retorted Louisa. “We can bang it if we like.”
“My principles,” repeated Erb with relish, “prevent me from accepting anything whatsoever concerning which I have reason to believe that it had not been acquired, or bought, or paid for by the party at whose hands—at whose hands–”