He was hopelessly in the wrong.
Just then there was a scurry in the hall outside and the squeak of childish voices.

James coughed and turned quickly towards the door.
Livingstone wanted an outlet.
"What is that ?" he asked, sharply.
James cleared his throat nervously.

The squeak came again--this time almost a squeal.
"Whose children are those ?" demanded Livingstone.
"Ahem! I thinks they's the laundress's, sir.

They just came around this evening--" Livingstone cut him short.
"Well! I--!" He was never nearer an outbreak, but he controlled himself.
"Go down and send them and her off immediately; and you--" He paused, closed his lips firmly, and changed his speech.

"I wish some dinner," he said coldly.
"Yes, sir." James had reached the door when he turned.
"Shall you be dining at home to-morrow, sir ?" he asked, quietly.
"Yes, of course," said Livingstone, shortly.