He looked for a moment into the bluff, scowling, kindly face of the man Eddy had called “a prince.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, and turned away, down the hall toward the back stairs. And, as he came round the corner into the corridor, where the housekeeper’s room was, his quick ear caught some words of such remarkable personal interest to him that he stood still.
“Another James Ross!” Mrs. Jones was saying. “That’s a likely story, I must say! Amy, that man’s a fraud and a spy!”
“No, Nanna darling, he’s not!” answered Amy, with sweet obstinacy.
“I tell you he is, child. He’s got to go.”
“No, dear,” said Amy. “He’s going to help me.”
“Amy!” cried Mrs. Jones. “Can’t you trust me? I tell you it’s all right. He won’t come to-night. I promise you he won’t!”
“Oh, you mean well!” Amy remarked. “But you’ve made plenty of mistakes before this.”
“Amy, I promise you—”
“No,” said Amy. “You told me before that I needn’t worry, that you’d ‘settled everything.’ And what happened? No; I’m afraid you’re getting old, Nanna—old and stupid. I’m going to manage for myself now. And Jimmy’s going to help me.”