"Impossible, Mater. Dinin' at the Old Players' Club."
To give the Governing Classes their due, they certainly made exit in pretty good style from Bohemia. As for Mr. Philip, he returned to the front hall to retrieve his hat and his coat with the astrachan collar and other belongings, and wondered if it would be wise to say good-by to Grandmamma, and decided that perhaps he had better not risk it. But before he could get into his famous garment, the Bad Girl of the Family descended upon him from the basement—we are not quite sure how she managed to do it, but simple little feats in elementary acrobatics are always possible to a pantomime performer—and haled the young man by main force into what she called her Private Piggery, which in reality was a small back parlor of sorts in an indescribable state of confusion.
Having brought the froward young man to this undesirable bourn, the Bad Girl turned up the electric light, and then without any warning proceeded to fall into a state that bordered upon tears and general collapse.
The heir to the barony was not feeling so very amused just now, though.
"My opinion you were listening, you cat."
"Granny—the dreadful old spitfire!"
