n
beginning ironically his discourse. He did not apologise for disturbing
Fyne and his "good lady" at breakfast, because he knew they did not want
(with a nod at the girl) to have more of her than could be helped. He
came the first possible moment because he had his business to attend to.
He wasn't drawing a tip-top salary (this staring at Fyne) in a
luxuriously furnished office. Not he. He had risen to be an employer
of labour and was bound to give a good example.

I believe the fellow was aware of, and enjoyed quietly, the
consternation his presence brought to the bosom of Mr and Mrs Fyne.
He turned briskly to the girl. Mrs Fyne confessed to me that they had
remained all three silent and inanimate. He turned to the girl: "What's
this game, Florrie? You had better give it up. If you expect me to run
all over London looking for you every time you happen to have a tiff
with your auntie and cousins you are mistaken. I can't afford it."

Tiff--was the sort of definition to take one's breath away, having
regard to the fact that both the word convict and the word pauper had
been used a moment before Flora de Barral ran away from the quarrel
about the lace trimmings. Yes, these very words! So at least the girl
had told Mrs Fyne the evening before. The word tiff in connection with
her tale had a peculiar savour, a paralysing effect. Nobody made a
sound. The relative of de Barral proceeded uninterrupted to a display
of magnanimity. "Auntie told me to tell you she's sorry--there! And
Amelia (the romping sister) shan't worry you again. I'll see to that.
You ought to be satisfied. Remember your position."

Emboldened by the utter stillness pervading the room he addressed
himself to Mrs Fyne with stolid effrontery:

"What I say is that people should be good-natured. She can't stand
being chaffed. She puts on her grand airs. She won't take a bit of a
joke from people as good as herself anyway. We are a plain lot. We
don't like it. And that's how trouble begins."

Insensible to the stony stare of three pairs of eyes, which, if the
stories of our childhood as to the power of the human eye are true,
ought to have been enough to daunt a tiger, that unabashed manufacturer
from the East-End fastened his fangs, figuratively speaking, into the
poor girl and prepared to drag her away for a prey to his cubs of both
sexes. "Auntie has thought of sending you your hat and coat. I've, got
them outside in the cab."