She indicated a chair into which Alfred bumped massively, with the air of one not to be budged from an impregnable position. Fancy was getting ready some dainty tea-things.
"Expecting company, miss?"
"Yes. Mr. Lionel Pomfret and Mrs. Pomfret. A nice tea. Master's orders."
Alfred nodded. He eyed Fancy with ever-increasing approval. A black gown, with snowy apron, bib, and cap, became her admirably. Beneath the cap her soft brown hair lay in shining ripples; the bib lent extra fulness to a too thin bosom; her big hazel eyes sparkled with animation; her pale cheeks had a tinge of pink in them. Alfred contrasted her delicate features with the exuberant comeliness of the late parlourmaid. Charm was not a word very distinctly defined in his vocabulary. But he became conscious of Fancy's charm, although he would have called it by another name. Certainly she was sweetly pretty, like a rose-leaf which a rough wind might blow away. More than aught else, too, he was struck by her little hands, which moved deftly and swiftly. He made sure that she was a good needlewoman. Such hands could make light pastry. All this pleased him tremendously. Fancy prattled on about the company expected, telling Alfred what he knew already, but he listened in silence, captivated by her voice. She cut dexterously some thin slices of brown bread-and-butter, as she spoke of the love-match between Squire's son and Parson's daughter.
"I am looking forward to waiting on them," she declared.
"Yes—a very handsome, notable couple. Squire'll be a granfer before he knows where he is."
"What things you do say, Mr. Yellam!"
"Ah-h-h! In my common way, I say what I think, never meaning offence, particularly to young maids, but 'tis a fact Sir Geoffrey is fair aching for grandchildren, the more the merrier. 'Twould be terrible if his house and lands passed to some measly next-of-kin. But we won't think of that."
"No. Not yet, at any rate."
Alfred felt reproved but not disconcerted. It might be politic to change the talk to motor-'buses, so he said abruptly: