"God only knows what
things are coming to!"
It began to seem even to me that they were coming a bit thick. But I
knew that his lordship was a determined man. He was of the bulldog
breed that has made old England what it is. I mean to say, I knew he
would put the woman in her place.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Echoes of the Monday night dinner reached me the following day. The
affair had passed off pleasantly enough, the members of the Bohemian
set conducting themselves quite as persons who mattered, with the
exception of the Klondike woman herself, who, I gathered, had
descended to a mood of most indecorous liveliness considering who the
guest of honour was. She had not only played and sung those noisy
native folksongs of hers, but she had, it seemed, conducted herself
with a certain facetious familiarity toward his lordship.
"Every now and then," said Cousin Egbert, my principal informant,
"she'd whirl in and josh the Cap all over the place about them funny
whiskers he wears. She told him out and out he'd just got to lose
them."
"Shocking rudeness!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, sure, sure!" he agreed, yet without indignation. "And the Cap
just hated her for it--you could tell that by the way he looked at
her. Oh, he hates her something terrible.
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