“Bridget,” said Mrs. Fenelby, laying down her sewing, “do we need three quarts of milk?”
“No, ma’am,” said Bridget.
“Well,” asked Mrs. Fenelby, “are two quarts too much?”
“No, ma’am,” said Bridget. “But if ye wanted t’ change yer moind—”
“Not at all!” said Mrs. Fenelby, kindly but firmly. “Good-night, Bridget.”
Bridget backed out of the door, and Mr. Fenelby, who had kept his head close to his book, turned to his wife with a frown on his brow.
“What is it, dear?” asked Mrs. Fenelby, after a fleeting glance at his face.
“Laura,” he said, “what shall we do with Bridget?”
Mrs. Fenelby looked up quickly. She quite forgot her sewing.