You'll get it soon.

I've sent the motor back to Windermere for the evening papers.' Meanwhile Marsworth found himself reduced to watching Cicely, and presently he found himself more angry and disgusted than he had ever yet been.

How could she?
How dared she?
On this day of all days, to be snobbishly playing the great lady in Mrs.Sarratt's small sitting-room! Whenever that was Cicely's mood she lisped; and as often as Marsworth, who was sitting far away from her, talking to Bridget Cookson, caught her voice, it seemed to him that she was lisping--affectedly--monstrously.
She was describing for instance a certain ducal household in which she had just been spending the week-end, and Marsworth heard her say-- 'Well at last, poor Evelyn' ('poor Evelyn' seemed to be a youthful Duchess, conducting a war economy campaign through the villages of her husband's estate), 'began to get threatening letters.

She found out afterwards they came from a nurse-maid she had sent away.

"Madam, don't you talk to us, but look at 'ome! examine your own nursewy, Madam, and hold your tongue!" She did examine, and I found her cwying.