It would be contradictory for one in mademoiselle’s state of agreeable jocularity to foam at the mouth, otherwise a tigerish expansion thereabouts might look as if a very little more would make her do it.

“In a word, mistress,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “I am sorry to be unpolite, but if you ever present yourself uninvited here⁠—or there⁠—again, I will give you over to the police. Their gallantry is great, but they carry troublesome people through the streets in an ignominious manner, strapped down on a board, my good wench.”

“I will prove you,” whispers mademoiselle, stretching out her hand, “I will try if you dare to do it!”

“And if,” pursues the lawyer without minding her, “I place you in that good condition of being locked up in jail, it will be some time before you find yourself at liberty again.”

“I will prove you,” repeats mademoiselle in her former whisper.