But here he interrupted.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I don’t think there’s anything about church attendance and singing in our agreement. Sunday, I presume, will be my day off, and I shall be glad of some exercise.”
“You never mean to tell me you don’t go to church?” she demanded, fixing him with her little beady eyes; “as to exercise, you will get plenty of that in the week—doing odd jobs and going messages. We are only here about six months, and not nearly settled yet.”
“I,” he was about to add, “go to church when I please;” but at this critical moment the door again opened, and another lady, much younger than his inquisitor, entered briskly. She had a long thin face, a kindly expression, and a pair of bright blue eyes which opened to their widest extent as she looked at Wynyard.
“I heard our new chauffeur had come,” she began, rather breathlessly.
“My chauffeur, Susan, if you please,” corrected Miss Parrett, “seeing that I am paying his wages and he is to drive my car.”
Miss Susan coloured faintly, and answered with a nervous laugh—
“Yes, yes, dear, of course—of course.”
“His name is Owen—John Owen—and I have been telling him of his duties, and how we only require to be driven about the country quietly—no dashing, no racing, no touring.”
“Yes, my dear sister, that is all very well for you who are nervous; but I do love motoring, and I hope this young man will take me for miles, and let me see something of the country. I wish you would come with us, Bella, won’t you?”