Janet's anger was rising now. "We have no soda-water or brandy," she replied. "Never mind, Mrs Reed. Let me get him up to his room." "You sit down and hold your tongue," cried Jessop, with tipsy sternness. "I'm master of my own house." "Of course, dear boy. I beg your pardon, I'm sure." "Granted! I'll let you see I'm not going to be dictated to by haughty, ill-tempered women. Madam, my friend wants some soda and brandy. Get it at once." Wrigley gave Janet a nod and a smile, as if to say, "Better humour him." "All right, dear boy," he said; "I won't have any now." "I say you shall, sir. Sit down. Think I'm going to let her show her airs to you." "Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" "Hold your tongue. I know what I'm talking about. She's got Clive on the brain. Always throwing my brother at me. Scoundrel about poor Lyddy Milsom, but she can't let him drop." "Mr Wrigley, I will see to my husband," said Janet coldly. "You will excuse me; it is getting late." "Really, I beg your pardon," said Wrigley, speaking with gentlemanly deference. "Yes, it will be better. Good-night, Mrs Reed. I am very sorry he should have been so affected, but it is really nothing. Believe me." "Hold your tongue, will you? Mind your own business," cried Jessop sharply. "I know what you're saying." "All right, old fellow. Get up to bed now. Good-night." Jessop made a dash at his wrist and held it fast. "Sit down. Not going yet. I'm master here. Won't go and fetch the soda and brandy, won't she? Very well; then she shall hear something she won't like. Look here, madam, what do you say to our dear brother now? On the stilts, is he? Well, then, he has got to come down." "Here, that will do, my dear Jessop," said Wrigley, with a hurried laugh. "Don't take any notice, Mrs Reed." "You hold your tongue, I say again," cried Jessop, gripping Wrigley's wrist so tightly that, without a struggle, there was no escape. "She has to hear it." "Nonsense, nonsense!" "Is it?" cried Jessop, sitting bolt upright now. "We shall see about that. She's always at me about him." "Now, my dear old Jessop, friend of all these years, do you think I want you to insult Mrs Reed before me?" "Insult, is it? You should hear how she insults me." "And I daresay you deserve it, just as you do now." "No, you don't. Want to make friends at court, do you?" "There, there! let me help you to bed, old fellow." "I'm going up to bed when I like, and when you're gone." "All right, then, I'll go now. I should have been rattling off to town in the cab if you hadn't stopped me. There! good-night." "Sit down. She's got to hear it. Do you hear, you Janet? He's a fine boy, our Clive. Sort of Abel, he is, and I'm a kind of Cain, am I? But we shall see. Cries about him, she does, and before her lawful husband. Jealous of him. Do you hear, Janet?" "Mr Wrigley, pray go," she cried indignantly. "My dear madam, I really am trying to go, but you see."