Again she wondered. 'Won't it rather be a lesson to us?' she asked.
'For God's sake, Lucy, don't argue. Things have to be done properly in my house. You've had no experience of a properly managed household. All that set you were brought up in—why, one only had to look at them to see what a hugger-mugger way they probably lived. It's entirely the careless fool's own fault that the tea will be cold. I didn't ask her to throw the bread and butter on the floor, did I?'
And as she said nothing, he asked again. 'Did I?' he asked.
'No,' said Lucy.
'Well then,' said Wemyss.
They waited in silence.
Chesterton arrived. She put the fresh bread and butter on the table, and then wiped the floor with a cloth she had brought.
Wemyss watched her closely. When she had done—and Chesterton being good at her work, scrutinise as he might he could see no sign on the floor of overlooked butter—he said, 'You will now take the teapot down and bring some hot tea.'
'Yes sir,' said Chesterton, removing the teapot.
A line of a hymn her nurse used to sing came into Lucy's head when she saw the teapot going. It was: