There was a jingle of a tiny bell as they closed the door, and the hard-faced woman had to squeeze by the visitors to get to the door, the passage was so small.
Sir Gordon stared hard, and then placed his large square glass to his eye.
“To be sure—yes. It’s you,” he said. “The old maid, Thisbe—”
“Some people can’t help being old maids,” said that lady tartly, “and some wants to be, sir.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Sir Gordon with grave politeness. “You mistake me. I meant the maid who used to be with Doctor and Mrs Luttrell in the old times. To be sure, yes, and with Mrs Hallam afterwards.”
“Yes, Sir Gordon.”
“So you’ve kept to your mistress all through—I mean you have stayed.”
“Yes, sir, of course I have.”
“And been one of the truest and best of friends,” said Bayle, smiling.
Thisbe gave herself a jerk and glanced over her shoulder, as though to see if the way was clear for her escape—should she have to run and avoid this praise.