“No. The girl who just went out. She—she—she has been doing parlor-maid’s work here, and has just been discharged.”
She said this so low that Madam Hammersly could not hear it. Then she wheeled and led Larry toward the austere looking lady in the background.
“I beg your pardon, Madam Hammersly,” Beth said. “This is my very oldest friend, Mr. Lawrence Haven. He is just like an elder brother to me, and comes from my home.”
The madam welcomed Larry with some cordiality. She evidently liked the young man’s appearance. After a minute or two of conversation, Beth asked, placidly:
“May Larry sit down here in the drawing-room, Madam, while I finish my dusting? We can talk just as well.”
“Why—yes, child. I see no objection,” replied the madam, yet looking at Beth oddly. “Would you not rather postpone the—er—assistance you were so kindly rendering me until your guest has gone?”
“Oh, no, Madam,” Beth said brightly. “Can’t afford to put it off till later. Mother always says, ‘Later never strikes by our clock.’ And Larry has often bothered me while I did housework.”
Larry said nothing. His face, however, was a study. He followed Beth with some hesitation into the north room. The madam, who believed in the proprieties, remained just out of earshot.
“Now tell me about everything and everybody, Larry,” Beth said blithely, recommencing her dusting. “You may sit in that corner by the door. I have dusted there.”
“But, Beth!” gasped Larry. “What does this mean?”