‘Don’t you like Micky?’ the girl asked, with an enchanting smile.
‘Micky is delightful,’ said Richard; ‘I suppose you have had him for many years. He has the look of an old and tried retainer.’
‘Hasn’t he!’ Teresa concurred; ‘but we have had him precisely a fortnight. You know that Watling Street, like all great high-roads, is infested with tramps. Micky was a Watling Street tramp. He came to the house one day to shelter from a bad thunderstorm. He said he was from Limerick, and badly in need of work. I was at school in a Limerick convent for five years, and I liked his Irish ways and speech. We happened to be desperately in need of an odd man, and so I persuaded father to engage him on trial. Micky is on trial for a month. I do hope he will stop with us. He doesn’t know very much about motor-cars, but we are teaching him, and he does understand horses and the garden.’
‘Only a fortnight!’ was all Richard’s response.
‘Yes, but it seems years,’ said the girl.
‘I was much struck by his attractive manner,’ said Richard, ‘when he came to my room last night with your message.’
‘My message?’
‘Yes, about breakfast.’
‘That must be a mistake,’ said Teresa. ‘I never sent any message.’
‘He said that you desired to remind me that breakfast was at seven o’clock.’