"Why are you always running upstairs?" he asked in a curious tone.
"Running upstairs, sir?"
(Ha! "Sir." He was recovering his grip on her.)
She blushed red. She had something to hide. Hordes of suspicions thronged through his mind.
"Well, sir, I have to go to the kitchen."
"I don't hear you so often in the kitchen," said he drily.
It was true. And all footsteps in the kitchen could be heard overhead in the bedroom. He suspected that she was carrying on conversations from her own bedroom window with new-made friends in the yard of the next house or the next house but one, and giving away the secrets of the house. But he did not utter the suspicion; he kept it to himself for the present. Yes, they were all alike.
"You haven't inquired, Elsie, but I'm much better," he said.
"Oh! I can see you are, sir!" she responded brightly.
But whether she really thought so, or whether she was just humouring him, he could not tell.