'O you brat! You wicked brat, you! Is this the way to
address me? I have half a mind to shake your viciousness out of you,
that I have!
You are worse than your father, that you are!' and here she wept with
rage.
'I dare say my father was not so bad, after all!' said Cadurcis.
'What should you know about your father, sir?' said Mrs. Cadurcis.
'How dare you speak about your father!'
'Who should speak about a father but a son?'
'Hold your impudence, sir!'
'I am not impudent, ma'am.'
'You aggravating brat!' exclaimed the enraged woman, 'I wish I had
something to throw at you!'
'Did you throw things at my father?' asked his lordship.
Mrs. Cadurcis went into an hysterical rage; then, suddenly jumping up,
she rushed at her son. Lord Cadurcis took up a position behind
the table, but the sportive and mocking air which he generally
instinctively assumed on these occasions, and which, while it
irritated his mother more, was in reality affected by the boy from a
sort of nervous desire of preventing these dreadful exposures from
assuming a too tragic tone, did not characterise his countenance on
the present occasion; on the contrary, it was pale, but composed and
very serious. Mrs. Cadurcis, after one or two ineffectual attempts to
catch him, paused and panted for breath.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101