("Nurse! is that all?")
"'I have my mother's sanction for making one last request to you. It is this——'"
("What have the children got for dinner to-day?")
—"'it is this: Return me my letters, as I have returned yours. You will find inside——'"
("A shoulder of mutton and onion sauce? And a devilish good dinner, too.")
The coarse wretch roared out those last shocking words cheerfully, at the top of his voice. Hitherto, Lady Malkinshaw had preserved her temper with the patience of an angel; but she began—and who can wonder?—to lose it, at last.
"It is really impossible, my dear," she said, rising from her chair, "to continue any conversation while that very intolerable person persists in talking to his family from his front garden. No! I really cannot go on—I cannot, indeed."
Just as I was apologising to my sweet friend for the second time, I observed, to my great relief (having my eye still on the window) that the odious major had apparently come to the end of his domestic business for that morning, and had made up his mind at last to relieve us of his presence. I distinctly saw him put his tablets back in his pocket, wheel round again on his heel, and march straight to the garden gate. I waited until he had his hand on the lock to open it, and then, when I felt that we were quite safe, I informed dear Lady Malkinshaw that my detestable neighbour had at last taken himself off, and, throwing open the window again to get a little air, begged and entreated her to oblige me by resuming her charming narrative.
"Where was I?" inquired my distinguished friend.
"You were telling me what you recommended your poor darling to write inside her enclosure," I answered.