“Do you mean Miss Herbert, sir?”
“I do—Miss Herbert—egad, you've hit it; be quick, sirra.”
John bowed and withdrew, and in a few minutes Miss Herbert entered.
“Miss Herbert,” said the squire, “leave this house as fast as the devil can drive you; and he has driven you to some purpose before now; ay, and, I dare say, will again. I say, then, as fast as he can drive you, pack up your luggage, and begone about your business. Ill just give you ten minutes to disappear.”
“What's all this about, master?”
“Master!—why, curse your brazen impudence, how dare you call me master? Begone, you jade of perdition.”
“No more a jade of perdition, sir, than you are; nor I shan't begone till I gets a quarter's wages—I tell you that.”
“You shall get whatever's coming to you; not another penny. The house-steward will pay you—begone, I say!”
“No, sir, I shan't begone till I gets a, quarter's salary in full. You broke your agreement with me, wich is wat no man as is a gentleman would do; and you are puttin' me away, too, without no cause.”
“Cause, you vagabond! you'll find the cause squalling, I suppose, in Mary Mahon's cottage, somewhere near Sir Robert Whitecraft's; and when you see him, tell him I have a crow to pluck with him. Off, I say.”