The first inkling of this was shown as his eyes lit upon Maria’s round face, and it tickled him so that he began to smile.
“Such impidence!” exclaimed Maria. “And a workus boy. My! what’s master going to do with him?”
She hurried to the housekeeper’s room, where Mrs Millett, who had kept the doctor’s house, and attended to the cooking as well, ever since Mrs Grayson’s death, was now seated making herself a new cap.
“A workhouse boy, Maria?” she said, letting her work fall upon her knees, and looking over the top of her spectacles.
“Yes; and master’s took him into the drawing-room.”
“Oh! very well,” said Mrs Millett tartly. “Master’s master, and he has a right to do what he likes; but if there’s anything I can’t abear in a house it’s a boy in buttons. They’re limbs, that’s what they are; regular young imps.”
“Going to keep a page!” said Maria, whose eyes looked a little less round.
“Why, of course, girl; and it’s all stuff.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Maria thoughtfully. “There’s the coal-scuttles to fill, and the door-bell to answer, a deal more than I like.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Millett, snipping off a piece of ribbon viciously; “I know. That boy to find every time you want ’em done, and a deal less trouble to do ’em yourself. I can’t abear boys.”