Very red, swelling and panting in turkey-cock fury, Mrs. Chater,
towering, swallowed and gasped, breathless before this vixenish
attack.
But she was the first to find speech; and incoherently she stormed as
at a scratching do those persons whose true selves lie beneath a
tissue film of polish.
She bubbled and panted: "Oh, you wicked girl!--oh, you wicked girl!--
oh, you wicked girl!--bold as brass-calling me a liar--_me_--and
my battered boy--engaged indeed!--I'll have the law and the police and
the judges--my solicitors--libel and assault, and slander and
attempted murder--boxes searched--my precious lambs to hear their
mother spoken to like this--get out of the hat-rack, David, and go
upstairs this instant--Angela, don't stand there--if I wasn't a lady
I'd box your ears, miss--only a week ago didn't I give you a black
silk skirt of mine?--and fed you like a princess, with a soft feather
pillow too, because you said the bolster made your head ache--servants
to wait on you hand and foot--and this is my reward--how I keep my
hands off you heaven only knows--but you shall suffer, miss--oh, yes
you shall--I'll give you in charge--I'll call a policeman."
She turned towards the kitchen stairs; screamed "Susan! Kate! Jane!
Susan!"
Small need to bellow. Around the staircase corner three white-capped
heads--Kate holding back Susan, Susan restraining Jane, Jane holding
Kate--had been with delighted eyes and straining ears bathing in this
rare scene.
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