“What you may say of me, that I do not care. But I will not remain to hear my husband insulted.”
“Sheila,” said Lavender, vexed and anxious, and yet pleased at the same time by the courage of the girl—“Sheila, it is only a joke. You must not mind; it is only a bit of fun.”
“I do not understand such jests,” she said, calmly.
“Sit down, like a good girl,” said the old lady with an air of absolute indifference. “I did not mean to offend you. Sit down and be quiet. You will destroy your nervous system if you give way to such impulses. I think you are healthy. I like the look of you, but you will never reach a good age, as I hope to do, except by moderating your passions. That is well; now take the ammonia again and give it to me. You don’t wish to die young, I suppose?”
“I am not afraid of dying,” said Sheila.
“Ring the bell, Frank.”
He did so, and a tall, spare, grave-faced woman appeared.
“Paterson, you must put luncheon on at two-ten. I ordered it at one-fifty, did I not?”
“Yes, m’m.”
“See that it is served at two-ten, and take this young lady and get her hair properly done. You understand? My nephew and I will wait luncheon for her.”