"Upon my word, Mrs. Harbinger," spoke up Mrs. Croydon, seeming more offended than there was any apparent reason for her to be, "you have the most extraordinary butler that ever existed."
Mrs. Harbinger threw out her hands in a gesture by which she evidently disclaimed all responsibility for Graham and his doings.
"Extraordinary! Why, he makes my life a burden. There is no mistake he cannot make, and he invents fresh ones every day. Really, I know of no reason why the creature is tolerated in the house except that he makes a cocktail to suit Tom."
"Dat ees ver' greet veertue," Count Shimbowski commented genially.
"I do not agree with you, Count," Miss Wentstile responded stiffly.
The spinster had been hovering about the Count ever since his accident with the teacup, apparently seeking an opportunity of snubbing him.
"Oh, but I die but eef Mees Wentsteele agree of me!" the Count declared with his hand on his heart.
Mrs. Croydon in the meanwhile had taken the letters from the hand of Barnstable, and was looking at them with a scrutiny perhaps closer than was exactly compatible with strict good-breeding.
"Why, here is a letter that has never been posted," she said.
Mr. Harbinger took the whole bundle from her hand.