In her own room, Zizi was holding a confab with the chambermaid, for whom she had sent.
“Yes, miss,” the girl said, staring into Zizi’s magnetic eyes. “I had the care of them rooms all the time Sir Binney was in ’em.”
“Yes, Molly, I know you did, and I want to know a few things about Sir Herbert Binney. Was he a fussy gentleman, about germs, say, and——”
“Germs? miss, how do you mean?”
“Was he afraid of imperfect drains, unaired mattresses or careless cleaning?”
“He was not! Lordy, the germs coulda carried him off and he’d never noticed it. He wudden’t know whether I swept or dusted rightly, or whether I gave the place a lick and a promise. He was wrapped up in his own affairs so’s you could hardly get his attention to ask him anythin’. Why, miss?”
“Don’t ask me why,—ever!” Zizi spoke sharply but not unkindly, and the girl remembered. “Now, Molly, the day before Sir Herbert moved in, he had the sitting-room cleaned and repapered. If he wasn’t afraid of germs, why have new paper?”
“Well, the old stuff was a sight, miss. All over, a dark green sorta lattice work pattern with smashin’ big red roses.”
“Sounds rather effective——”
“A nightmare, that’s what it was. Well, Sir Herbert, the minnit he looked at it he said, ‘Rip it off!’”