“Hullo, Old Un!” said he, “what’s the matter now, you old book o’ bad language, you?”

But Mr. Brimberly, somewhat shaken with his late interview and feeling the need of a stimulant, had just refilled the long glass when, hearing a rustle behind him, he turned and beheld a tall woman, elderly and angular, especially as to chin and elbows, which last obtruded themselves quite unpleasantly; at least, as he eyed them there was manifest disapprobation in every hair of his whiskers.

“Now I wonder,” he sighed plaintively, “I wonder what under the blue expandment of ’oly ’eaven you might be, because if you ’appen to be the washing—­”

“I—­am—­not!”

“Or the cannybal missions—­”

“No—­sech—­thing!”

“Oh!” said Mr. Brimberly, and his gaze wandered to the elbows.  “Why, then, let me hinform you—­”

“Ann Angelina Trapes is me name.”

“Why then, ma’am, you’ve took the wrong turning.  ‘Owbeit an’ notwithstanding, ’ooever you are and nevertheless, you will find the tradespeople’s entra—­”

“You’re the gentleman as is so obligin’ as to be Mr. Ravenslee’s butler, ain’t you?”

“Sich is my perfession,” Mr. Brimberly admitted.  “I am in sole charge of these premises and so being will ask you to withdraw ’ence immediate.  I will ask—­”

“An’ I’ll ask you, very p’inted, what you reckon you’re doin’ in that chair?”

“Doing?”

“I’ll ask you, very p’inted, why you’re loafin’ around wastin’ your master’s time?”

“Loafing?” cried Mr. Brimberly, very red in the face.  “Loaf—­”

“I also ask you, very p’inted, wherefore an’ why you loaf, guzzlin’ an’ swillin’ your master’s good liquor?”

“Guzzling!” gasped Mr. Brimberly.  “Oh, ’eavens, this is a outrage, this is!  I’ll—­”

“It sure is!  An’ so are you, winebibber!”

“Winebib—­” Mr. Brimberly choked, his round face grew purple, and he flourished pudgy fists while Mrs. Trapes folded her cotton-gloved hands and watched him.

“Winebibber!” she nodded.  “An’ the wine as you now bib is your master’s, consequently it was stole, an’ bein’ stole you’re a thief, an’ bein’ a thief—­”

“Thief!” gurgled Mr. Brimberly.  “Ha, thief’s a hepithet, thief is, and a hepithet ’s hactionable!  I’ll ’ave you indented for perjoorious expressions—­”

“Winebibber!” she sighed.  “Snake an’ plunderer!”

“Never,” cried Mr. Brimberly, “never in all my days did I ever ’earken to such contoomacious contoomacity!  ‘Oo are you an’ wot—­”

“Hand over that bottle and what you’ve left o’ them cigars!”

“Woman, begone!” he cried hoarsely.  “Woman, if you don’t go ’ence this very moment, I’ll have you persecuted with the hutmost vigour o’ the law for a incorrigible—­female!”

“Female!” repeated Mrs. Trapes; and clasping herself in her long, bony arms she shuddered and smiled, though her eyes glared more stonily, and her elbows suggested rapier points, daggers, and other deadly weapons of offence.