. . "Look quick, d—n you, or we shall never master him!" "Murder!" shrieked Mrs. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom— especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit. ’ He sighed, spread his hands quite in her own manner, and fluttered his lashes. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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