“What the—?—What do you want here?” angrily demanded Alexander barely able to repress an oath, as he saw Dorset and hastily released Drusilla.
“If you please, sir, it is the tea tray,” said the old man, in growing wonder.
“Hang the tea tray! What do you mean by bringing it here before it is wanted?”
“Beg pardon, sir, but it is nine o’clock, when I allers brings it.”
“Then why don’t you knock before entering a room? You servants are perfect vandals in your rudeness.”
“Please, sir, I never was used to knock in the old Madam’s time, so I did not know as I was expected to do it now; but beg pardon, sir, I will allers knock for the future.”
“Put the tray down and go.—No, stay and wait,” growled Alexander, beginning to feel conscious that if his kiss was an indiscretion, his fuss with the old man’s interruption of it was a still greater one.
Dorset obediently sat the tray down on the table, arranged the tea service, bowed, and stood waiting.
“Drusilla, my little daughter, you must preside,” said Alexander, trying to give a paternal aspect to his affection for the orphan.
Drusilla, blushing deeply, took her place at the table and poured out the tea.