He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. "What did you ring for, Sir?" she asked, eyeing the group with astonishment. His smile faded. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. She could even think of what had happened. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. “Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked.
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