“What an escort!” she exclaimed in comic dismay, as she rescued her delicate dress from a rug in which he was about to tuck her up like a mummy.
“It’s ‘only Mac,’ so don’t mind,” and he cast himself into an opposite corner with the air of a man who had nerved himself to the accomplishment of many painful duties and was bound to do them or die.
“But gentlemen don’t catch up ladies like bags of meal and poke them into carriages in this way. It is evident that you need looking after, and it is high time I undertook your society manners. Now, do mind what you are about and don’t get yourself or me into a scrape if you can help it,” besought Rose, feeling that on many accounts she had gone further and fared worse.
“I’ll behave like a Turveydrop see if I don’t.”
Mac’s idea of the immortal Tu
