the room--saw--and; without an instant's diminution of speed, described
a curve, and ran headlong out, screaming "Polly! Polly!"

The next moment the housekeeper, an elderly woman, trotted in at the
door, saw her mistress's condition, and stood stock-still, calling,
"Polly," but with the most perfect tranquillity the mind can conceive.

In ran a strapping house-maid, with black eyes and brown arms, went
down on her knees, and said, firmly though respectfully, "Give her me,
sir."

She got behind her struggling mistress, pulled her up into her own lap,
and pinned her by the wrists with a vigorous grasp.

The lady struggled, and ground her teeth audibly, and flung her arms
abroad. The maid applied all her rustic strength and harder muscle to
hold her within bounds. The four arms went to and fro in a magnificent
struggle, and neither could the maid hold the mistress still, nor the
mistress shake off the maid's grasp, nor strike anything to hurt
herself.

Sir Charles, thrust out of the play looked on with pity and anxiety,
and the little page at the door--combining art and nature--stuck
stock-still in a military attitude, and blubbered aloud.

As for the housekeeper, she remained in the middle of the room with
folded arms, and looked down on the struggle with a singular expression
of countenance. There was no agitation whatever, but a sort of
thoughtful examination, half cynical, half admiring.