"Gone? Who, ma'am?"
"The monster."
"Light-headed yet," muttered Peter. But following Miss Limpenny's
stare the brothers caught sight of Mr. Fogo simultaneously, and for
the first time. Their mahogany faces grew sensibly paler.
"Well, this beats cock-fightin'!"
"Would you mind taking that lady away?" pleaded Mr. Fogo, through his
chattering teeth; "I am very cold indeed, and wish to dress."
"Oh! that voice again," sobbed Miss Limpenny; "please tell him to go
away."
Being nonplussed by these two appeals, Peter addressed his reply to
his brother.
"I dunno, Paul, as we've a-got to the bottom o' this; but I reck'n
Mr. Fogo's been a-lettin' hes principles take 'n too far. As for
dislikin' womankind, 'tes in a way 'scuseable p'raps; but notices es
wan thing, an' teasin' anuther."
"That's so, Peter. Ef 'tes a matter o' fash'n, tho', I dunno as
we've any call to interfere, not knawin' what's what."
"Ef you plaise, sir," shouted Peter, "Paul an' me wants to know
whether you be a-doin' et by way o' bein' fash'nubble?"
"I don't know what you mean. I only wish to be allowed to get at my
clothes. I really am suffering considerably, being quite unused to
these long immersions."
Peter looked around and caught sight of the neat pile of Mr.
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