"What's all that wet on your apron, Elsie?"
She was not a bit disconcerted.
"Oh, that's nothing, sir," she said, and turned out the light before departing.
"Here! I say, Elsie!"
"Can't stop now, sir. I'm that busy with things." She spoke to him negligently, as a stronger power to a weaker—it was very queer!—and went out and shut the door with a smart click.
The grate and flue in her room were utterly unaccustomed to fires; it is conceivable that they had never before felt a fire. But they performed their functions with the ardour of neophytes, and very soon Mr. Earlforward's coal was blazing furiously in the hearth and the room stiflingly, exquisitely hot—while Mr. Earlforward, all unconscious of the infamy above, kept himself warm by bedclothes and the pride of economy alone. And a little later Elsie was administering to Joe her master's invalid food. The tale of her thefts was lengthening hour by hour.