“Isn’t it rather funny to find an army man in a post like that?” Barbara asked, more for the sake of something to say than anything; the atmosphere was still a little strained. “I thought when you left the army, you had a pension.”
“So you do,” Roger returned. “But pensions don’t amount to much in any case. Besides, I rather fancy that Stanworth likes having a man in the job with a certain social standing attached to him. Oh, yes; I’ve no doubt that he finds Jefferson uncommonly useful.”
“Surly sort of devil though, isn’t he?” observed Alec. “Can I have another cup of coffee, please, Barbara?”
“Oh, he’s all right,” Roger pronounced. “But I wouldn’t like to be out with that butler alone on a dark night.”
“He’s the most extraordinary butler I’ve ever seen,” said Barbara with decision, manipulating the coffee-pot. “He positively frightens me at times. He looks more like a prize-fighter than a butler. What do you think, Mr. Sheringham?”
“As a matter of fact, you’re perfectly right, Barbara,” Alec put in. “He is an old boxer. Jefferson told me. Stanworth took him on for some reason years ago, and he’s been with him ever since.”
“I’d like to see a scrap between him and you, Alec,” Roger murmured bloodthirstily. “There wouldn’t be much to choose between you.”
“Thanks,” Alec laughed. “Not to-day, I think. He’d simply wipe the floor with me. He could give me nearly a stone, I should say.”
“And you’re no chicken. Ah, well, if you ever think better of it, let me know. I’ll put up a purse all right.”
“Let’s change the subject,” said Barbara, with a little shiver. “Oh! Good-morning, Mrs. Plant. Hullo, Mother, dear! Had a good night?”