“Like a public-house,” she muttered, as she crossed the hall, turned the handle with a snatch, and threw open the door, to find herself face to face with Trevor, who was sitting at a table writing a letter.
“Mrs Lloyd!”
“Not gone to bed!”
The couple looked angrily at each other for a few moments, and then Trevor said, sternly—
“Why are you downstairs at this time of the night, Mrs Lloyd?”
“The morning you mean, sir,” said the housekeeper. “What am I down for?” she continued, angrily; “to see that the house is safe—that there’s no fire left about—that doors are fastened, so that the house I’ve watched over all these years isn’t destroyed by carelessness, and all going to rack and ruin.”
Trevor jumped up with an angry exclamation on his lips; but he checked it, and then spoke, quite calmly—
“Mrs Lloyd, I should be perfectly justified in speaking to you perhaps in a way in which you have never been spoken to before.”
“Pray do, then, Master—sir,” jerked out Mrs Lloyd, looking white with anger.
“In half a dozen things during the past evening you have wilfully disobeyed my orders. Why was this?”