He met her in the middle of the room, took her hand, and kissed it.
“Mary, my dear, I want you desperately. The whole house is upside down b’ Jove! And, by the way, that fellow Charles is a disgrace to our establishment, a clown, an idiot.”
“He is your godson, Geoffrey.”
She smiled faintly.
“He isn’t—impossible!”
“I am sure of it.”
“We’ll see about that.” He placed her courteously in a chair, sat down at his desk, opened a drawer and took out a small notebook in which were entered his village godchildren’s names. “B’ Jove! you’re right, Mary. He is my godson. I shall deal faithfully with him.”
Lady Pomfret sighed.
“Please, for my sake, go easy with him. He may give notice, too. I should like to spare you further worry, Geoffrey, but the kitchen-maid and two under house-maids are leaving us.”
“What? Why, Mary, why?”