My lord eyed him despondently.

“Er⁠—Jim!”

“Yes⁠—your lordship?”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot endure it.”

“I beg pardon, my lord?”

“I can’t have you call me ‘your lordship,’ after every second word⁠—I really cannot.”

“Why, sir⁠—may I still call you ‘sir’?”

“I would much rather you did.”

“Ay, sir⁠—thank you.⁠ ⁠…”

In the middle of tying the bow to his master’s wig Jim paused, and in the mirror Jack saw his face fall.

“What’s amiss now? And what have you done with my patches?”