“I'll do my best, miss,” said Mrs. Judge, obsequiously; “it is the least we can all do for a young lady like you that leaves the pomps and vanities, and gives her mind to bettering the condishing of poor folk.”
Having once taken this cue and entered upon a vein of flattery, she would have been extremely voluble—for villages can vie with cities in adulation as well as in detraction—but she was interrupted by a footman announcing luncheon.
Zoe handed Mrs. Judge over to the man with a request that he would be kind to her, and have her to dine with the servants.
Yellowplush saw the gentlefolks away, and then, parting his legs, and putting his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, delivered himself thus: “Well, old girl, am I to give you my harm round to the kitchen, or do you know the way by yourself?”
“Young chap,” said Mrs. Judge, and turned a glittering eye, “I did know the way afore you was born, and I should know it all one if so be you was to be hung, or sent to Botany Bay—to larn manners.”
Having delivered this shot, she rolled away in the direction of Roast Beef.
The little party had hardly settled at the table when they were joined by Vizard and Uxmoor: both gentlemen welcomed Miss Gale more heartily than the ladies had done, and before luncheon ended Vizard asked her if her report was ready. She said it was.
“Have you got it with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then please hand it to me.”