"It gets worse every day," he said. "I don't know what that girl thinks she's paid for. She never does anything right."
And when he went upstairs to turn on a bath he discovered that all the hot water had been used in washing up the plates. He returned to the drawing-room in a fury of impatience.
"I do wish, mother," he said, "that you'd explain to Lizzie that there's no need for her to wash herself as well as the plates in that sink of hers."
"And I wish you wouldn't grumble the whole time, Roland," his mother retorted. "Lizzie's got a great deal to do. She has to do the cooking as well as the housework. I think that, on the whole, she manages very well."
"I am glad you think so," said Roland, and walked out of the room.
Next morning he found on his plate a letter from Mrs Marston, inviting him down for the week-end.
"It seems such a long time since that cricket week," she wrote, "and we all want to congratulate you on your splendid work. So do come."
He handed the letter across to his mother.
She raised her eyebrows interrogatively.
"Well, dear?"