“It sounds very queer.”
“It’d be very queer. Goin’ to the bad is always queer. Madam wouldn’t look for it to be like ’avin’ a gentleman lead ’er in to dinner.”
“What’s she like—the lady?”
“That’s somethink madam’d ’ave to wyte and see. She wouldn’t seem so wicked, not at first sight, as you might sye. But time’d tell. If madam’d be pytient—well, I wouldn’t like to sye.” He eyed the fire. “I think that fire’ll burn now, madam; and if it don’t, madam’ll only ’ave to ring.”
He was at the door when Letty, feeling the end of all things to be at hand, ran after him, laying her fingers on his sleeve.
“Oh, Steptoe; you’ve been so good to me!”
He relaxed from his dignity sufficiently to let his hand rest on hers, which he patted gently. “I’ve been madam’s servant—and my boy’s.”
“I shall never think of you as a servant—never.”
The frosty color rose into his cheeks. “Then madam’ll do me a great wrong.”
“To me you’re so much higher than a servant––”