"In the yellow drawing-room, y'r worship."
The Parson was a magistrate, and, for no known reason, Butts always addressed him as such.
"Very well, I'll find my way to her. Send someone around to take the dog-cart, and as soon as he comes, take this gentleman inside until your mistress rings. Understand?"
"I understand, y'r worship."
"Then be as brisk as you can, for the horse is fresh to-day."
"He 'as aperiently been workin' hisself into a lather, y'r worship," said Butts. "Which I 'ave noticed, sir, your 'abit—or, as I may say, your custom—of bringin' 'im in cool."
But Parson Chichester had left him, and was making his way across the hall to the yellow drawing-room, which he entered with little ceremony. Miss Sally rose to receive him. She had been sitting in its oriel window with a small table before her, and on the table a Bible. This was her rule on a Sunday afternoon, and every Sunday after luncheon she donned a pair of spectacles. Butts, who knew her habits to a hair, brought the spectacles once a week and laid the book open at his favourite passages. For aught it mattered, he might have opened it upside-down.
"You're pretty punctual," said Miss Sally. "Before your time, if anything."
"Yes; the horse bolted, or tried to," Mr. Chichester explained.
"Guess whom I've brought with me."
"Not Miles Chandon?"