“But, child!” gasped the madam. “Can you do it with your manifold other duties?”
“Why,” said Beth, laughing outright, “my mother says that the only people in the world who find time to do extra work are the busy people.”
“Perhaps she is correct,” agreed the lady, though somewhat slowly. “I—I do not know what to say, my dear.”
“Say yes. I will go right ahead and do the south drawing-room this morning. Then this afternoon, in my free hour, I will do the north room. Is it agreed?”
The madam showed weakness at that moment. She believed Beth would make a “perfect treasure” of a parlor-maid. So she said: “Yes.”
Beth ran upstairs just as the rising bell rang, and removed the cap and apron in her room. She hid them away and said nothing about the dusting, not even to Molly.
By “grapevine telegraph” Maude Grimshaw learned before breakfast that Cynthia Fogg was going. She was delighted.
“What did I tell you?” she asked loudly, at the table. “I told you I would not stand that impudent waitress remaining here. No, indeed!” and she tossed her head as though it were by her influence that Cynthia had received her discharge.
“Pass the butter!” said somebody, in a sepulchral voice, and the whole table tittered, while Miss Grimshaw flushed red, leaving the table abruptly.
Molly learned that Cynthia would not leave the premises till afternoon. The down boat stopped at the Rivercliff landing at four-thirty. So Beth took her time about seeing the departing girl.