Hastiness, you see, in the
family.
Well, the sight of his face, glowering back on her over his shoulder,
was enough to dry up the speech in Mrs. Polwhele or any woman.
But Bligh, it seems, couldn't be content with this. After withering
the poor soul for ten seconds or so, he takes his eyes off her, turns
to his friend again in a lazy, insolent way, and begins to talk loud
to him in French.
'Twas a terrible unmannerly thing to do for a fellow supposed to be a
gentleman. I've naught to say against modern languages: but when I
see it on the newspaper nowadays that naval officers ought to give
what's called "increased attention" to French and German, I hope that
they'll use it bettern than Bligh, that's all! Why, Sir, my eldest
daughter threw up a situation as parlour-maid in London because her
master and mistress pitched to parleyvooing whenever they wanted to
talk secrets at table. "If you please, Ma'am," she told the lady,
"you're mistaking me for the governess and I never could abide
compliments." She gave a month's warning then and there, and I
commend the girl's spirit.
But the awkward thing for Bligh, as it turned out, was that Mrs.
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