“I don’t think Jackson is a Roundhead,” said Mrs Jane quietly, rearranging some laces in a little box.
“Dear heart, Mrs Jane! but what could the creature have said worse, if he had been Oliver Cromwell himself?”
“Well, and I do not think he is Oliver Cromwell either,” replied Mrs Jane, laughing. “And as to his not knowing his business, madam,” she added, turning to her mother, “I pray you remember how exceeding good a character my Lord Wilmot gave him.”
“My dear Jane! A good character is all very well, but I do want some capability in my servants as well as character. You do not choose your shoemaker because he is sober and steady, but because he makes good shoes.”
“Under your correction, madam, he would not make good shoes long if he were neither steady nor sober. Howbeit, I pray you, speak to my brother: methinks you shall find him unready to discharge Jackson for no better reason than that he cannot take the collar off an horse.”
“But the words, Mrs Jane! Those awful words!”
“Very like they grew in Robin’s brain,” calmly answered Mrs Jane, turning the lock of her trunk. “He is a bit jealous of Jackson, or I mistake.”
“Jealous of that black creature!” cried Millicent. “Why, he could not hold a tallow candle to Robin!”
“I dare say he won’t try,” replied Mrs Jane, with a little amusement in her voice.
Mrs Lane, who had left the room, returned looking somewhat discomfited.