"Ay, to business," returned Jonathan, grinning, "the sooner the better. You disgust me. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose.
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