"I said 'Call the girl.'"
"You said nothing of the sort. What was it you said before that?"
Now, what her husband had said was, "The idea of a rub! Idiotic barbarian!" He was unable to qualify this speech effectually, and his wife went some more stairs up. Not to disappear finally; a compromise was possible.
"Did you say 'idiotic barbarian,' or 'idiotic barbarians'? Because it makes all the difference."
"Barbarians. Plural. Don't be a fool, and come down."
Thereupon the lady came back as far as the door, but seemed to waver in concession, for she made reservations.
"I am not coming down because of anything," she said, "but only to remind you that that Miss Upwell was to come some time to see the picture, and I think that's her."
"What's her? I don't hear anyone at the door."
"It's no use gaping out of the front-window. You know quite well what I mean. That's her in the carriage, gone to the Macnivensons' by mistake for us, as people always do and always will, Reginald, until Mrs. Verity gets the Borough Council to change the numbers. 'Thirty-seven A' is a mere mockery."
Mr. Aiken came out of the Studio, and went up to the side-window on the landing, commanding a view of the street in which thirty-seven A stood, his own tenancy being in the upper half of a corner house. "That's her," said he. "And a young swell. Sweetheart, p'raps! Smart set, they look. But, I say, Mrs. Hay..."