“Oh, so that’s it! I see! And you’re hurrying off to write to her? Well,”—spitefully—“I can tell you one thing for yer comfort, there’s no post out of Ottinge before Monday morning!”
“Isn’t there? That’s a pity. Well, good-evening to you, Miss Hicks;” and he walked off, leaving Miss Hicks gaping after him. She, however, consoled herself with a couple of glasses of ginger wine, before re-entering the house.
CHAPTER XII
THE DOGS’ HOTEL
The morning succeeding the motor’s first trip proved depressingly wet; thick mists of cold spring rain shrouded the outlook from the Manor, beat down upon the pleasure ground, and made pools in the hollows of the drive.
Miss Parrett, who was, as the servants expressed it, “dodging” in and out of the sitting-room, issuing commands and then withdrawing them, fastened upon the chauffeur the moment he came for orders.
No, the car would not be required, and he could go some errands into the village.
“Mind you don’t go loitering and gossiping,” she added. “I know your sort, chattering with the maids. Remember that your time belongs to me;” and she pointed a stumpy forefinger at her knitted jacket. “I’ve a note for Miss Morven at the Rectory, and another for Ivy House, and I want some things at Topham’s shop. I’ll give you a list. You can go into the schoolroom and wait.”
Calm with excessive rage Wynyard entered the schoolroom, where he found Miss Susan with a handkerchief tied over her head, and an apron over her dress, unpacking dusty china from a battered case.
“Such a day!” she exclaimed cheerfully; “and they say it’s going to last—so we shall be very busy, and make use of you.”
“All right, miss,” he assented shortly; the accusation of “chattering with maids” still left its sting.