"Oh, in the lumber-room," said Mrs. Denny easily. "It only wants papering. A nice, big room! A sloping roof, of course. But with her wages, if she can't put up with a sloping roof—! But it'll take some clearing! You wouldn't believe what an amount of rubbish has collected."
"It's not rubbish," said Louise. Her voice was low with passion. "It's not rubbish! You shan't touch it."
Mrs. Denny spun round amazedly: Her step-daughter, the loaf clutched to her breast with an unconscious gesture, the big knife gleaming, was a tragi-comic figure.
"What on earth——?" she began.
Louise leaned forward, hot-eyed.
"Mamma! You won't! You can't! You mustn't! Father, don't let her! That's Mother's room! If you put cook in Mother's room——" She choked. A priestess defending her altars could have used her accents.
Mr. Denny put down his paper.
"What's the matter with the girl?" he demanded.
Mrs. Denny shrugged her shoulders.
"I've no idea! I don't know what she means. Put down that knife; Louise—you'll cut yourself. And mind your own business, please."