"Don't you go getting alarmed. And don't you," added Webster, "go
shoving your ear in when your social superiors are talking. I've had to
speak to you about that before. My remarks were addressed to Mrs.
Withers here."
He indicated the cook with a respectful gesture.
"Yes, here's the note, Mrs. Withers. Of course, if you had a steamy
kettle handy, in about half a moment we could ... but no, perhaps, it's
wiser not to risk it. And, come to that, I don't need to unstick the
envelope to know what's inside here. It's the raspberry, ma'am, or I've
lost all my power to read the human female countenance. Very cold and
proud-looking she was! I don't know who this S. Marlowe is, but I do
know one thing; in this hand I hold the instrument that's going to give
it him in the neck, proper! Right in the neck, or my name isn't Montagu
Webster!"
"Well!" said Mrs. Withers comfortably, pausing for a moment from her
labours. "Think of that!"
"The way I look at it," said Webster, "is that there's been some sort
of understanding between our Miss B.
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