“Maria.”
“Maria who?
“Just Maria. I don't need any other name.”
“Tell me your message, and I'll give it to him. Then, you can come around later in the day for your answer.”
“No, I can't do that. This is something I must say to him myself, and in private,” croaked the voice.
“Well, you can't see him, and that's all there is about it,” snapped Butts with finality, and he slammed the door full in the old Indian woman's face.
At that, Jean sprang up and hurried from the drawing-room into the hallway, her eyes flashing with resentment.
“Here, Butts,” she said sharply, “call that woman back, and bring her to me in the sitting-room. I will hear what she has to say, if she will tell me.
“Yes, miss,” and the butler, showing vast disapproval in his tone, opened the door.
A minute later, Jean looked up to see a bent, wizened old hag standing in the doorway, bobbing respectfully.