QUEEN. You must have it cauterised, Brown. I won't have you getting
hydrophobia.
J.B. You generally get that from dogs.
QUEEN. Oh, from cats too; any cat that a mad dog has bitten.
J.B. They do say, Ma'am, that if a mad dog bites you--you have to die
barking. So if it's a cat-bite I'm going to die of, you'll hear me mewing
the day, maybe.
QUEEN. I don't like cats: I never did. Treacherous, deceitful creatures!
Now a dog always looks up to you.
J.B. Yes, Ma'am; they are tasteful, attractive animals; and that, maybe,
is the reason. They give you a good conceit of yourself, dogs do. You
never have to apologise to a dog. Do him an injury--you've only to say you
forgive him, and he's friends again.
(_Accepting his views with a nodding smile, she resumes her pen, and
spreads paper_.)
QUEEN. Now, Brown, I must get to work again. I have writing to do. See
that I'm not disturbed.
J.B. Then when were you wanting to see your visitor, Ma'am? There's his
chair waiting.
QUEEN. Ah, yes, to be sure. But I didn't want to worry him too soon. What
is the time?
J.B. Nearly twelve, Ma'am.
QUEEN. Oh! then I think I may. Will you go and tell him: the Queen's
compliments, and she would like to see him, now?
J.B. I will go and tell him, Ma'am.
QUEEN. And then I shan't want you any more--till this afternoon.
J.B. Then I'll just go across and take lunch at home, Ma'am.
QUEEN. Yes, do! That will be nice for you.
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