On the third morning after Dousterswivel’s departure, the servant, as usual, laid on the breakfast table the newspaper and letters of the day. Miss Wardour took up the former to avoid the continued ill-humour of her father, who had wrought himself into a violent passion, because the toast was over-browned.
“I perceive how it is,” was his concluding speech on this interesting subject,—“my servants, who have had their share of my fortune, begin to think there is little to be made of me in future. But while I am the scoundrel’s master I will be so, and permit no neglect—no, nor endure a hair’s-breadth diminution of the respect I am entitled to exact from them.”
“I am ready to leave your honour’s service this instant,” said the domestic upon whom the fault had been charged, “as soon as you o
