She said “Yes’m,” a good many times, and smiled at her mistress as though joyfully accepting a form of promotion.
Mrs. Lambe was relieved, the parlour-maid and the housemaid did not give notice, and even Aunt Tessie—very difficult to please nowadays—appeared contented and satisfied.
But she was getting worse all the time.
It became more and more embarrassing when visitors came to Melrose.
The old lady always found out when anyone was expected, and the more people were coming the noisier and more excited she became.
One dreadful Sunday there were guests for luncheon—two of Edgar’s important clients, and little Ena’s godfather—a rich old bachelor cousin—and two unmarried ladies, friends of Mrs. Lambe’s maiden days. She was always very faithful to her friends.
Aunt Tessie actually pranced downstairs and met some of these people in the hall as they arrived, and greeted them boisterously, and so incoherently that really they might almost have been excused for thinking that she had been taking too much to drink.
Mrs. Lambe, hastening downstairs from her own room, could hear it all, although she could not see it, and it was thus that she afterwards described it to Edgar.
“So glad—so glad to see you!” shouted Aunt Tessie. “This fine house—always open, and my nephew is so generous and hospitable. They take advantage, sometimes—there are bad people about, very bad people. Sometimes they make attempts ... one’s life isn’t as safe as it looks, I can assure you....”
She had thrown out such ridiculous and yet sinister hints once or twice lately. But what could the poor guests think of it all?