“Cornwall promises to be a queer place,” said Pratt; “but that stuff was heavenly—did you finish it, Dick?”
“Not quite, I think,” said Trevor.
“And you sent it away. Oh, Dick!”
The little maid had hardly got outside the door, when Mrs Lloyd came across the hall, followed at a short distance by the butler, rubbing his hands, smiling feebly, and looking anxious.
“Crying?” said Mrs Lloyd, sharply. “You little goose!”
“I—I—couldn’t help it, aunt, indeed,” sobbed the girl.
“’Sh! not a sound,” said Mrs Lloyd, sharply; and she caught the girl by the arm. “Did he drink the milk?”
“Yes, aunt.”
“Did that other gentleman take any?”
“Yes, aunt—a lot.”