She stands, bending to me, with the fork close to my face. I push
it aside.
''Do you suppose,'' I say, ''I mean to sit and eat a supper with you? With any of you? Why, I should be ashamed to call you servants! Throw in my fortunes with yours? I should rather be beggared. I should rather die!''
There is a second of silence; then: ''Got a dander,'' says the boy. ''Don''t she?''
But the woman shakes her head, looks almost admiring. ''Dainty''s got a dander,'' she answers. ''Why, I''ve got one myself. Any ordinary girl can have one of them. What a lady has, they call something else. What do they call it, Gentleman?'' She says this to Richard, who is leaning tiredly to tug upon the ears of the slavering dog.
''Hauteur,'' he answers, not looking up.
''Hauteur,'' she repeats.
''Mersee,'' says the boy, giving me a leer. ''I should hate, after all, to have mistook it for common bad manners, and punched her.''
He returns to the clasp of my bag. The man watches, and winces. ''Ain''t you learned yet,'' he says, ''the handling of a lock? Don''t prise it, boy, and mash the levers. That''s sweet little work. You are just about to bust it.''
The boy makes a final stab with his knife, his face darkening, ruck!'' he says.—The first time I have ever heard the word used as
a curse. He takes the point of the blade from the lock and puts it to the leather beneath, and before I can cry out and stop him he slices it, swiftly, in one long gash.