Bullsom replied, contemptuously. "Taste! What sort of
taste do you call that beastly rug on your shoulders, eh? Or your hair
rolled round and just a pin stuck through it? Looks as though it hadn't
been brushed for a week. Faugh! When your mother and I lived on two
pounds a week she never insulted me by coming down to breakfast in
such a thing."
Selina eyed her father in angry astonishment.
"Thing indeed!" she repeated. "This wrapper cost me four guineas, and
came from Paris. That shows how much you know about it."
"From Paris, did it?" Mr. Bullsom retorted, fiercely. "Then up-stairs
you go and take it off. You girls have had your own way too much, and
I'm about tired of it."
"I shall change it--after breakfast," Selina said, doubtfully.
Mr. Bullsom threw open the door.
"Up-stairs," he repeated, "and throw it into the rag-bag."
Selina hesitated. Then she rose, and with scarlet cheeks and a poor
show of dignity, left the room. Mr. Bullsom drew himself up and beamed
upon Mary.
"I'll show'em a bit," he declared, with great good-humour. "I may be
an ignorant old man, but I'm going to wake these girls up.
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