“Nothing to worry about. Mr. Grimshaw sees to that, he do. And now that we’re a-going to lose him——”
“What——?”
“Haven’t you heard, miss?”
“Not a word.”
Mrs. Rockram became interjectional. “Well, I never did!—Maybe, I’ve no call to!—But there!—I did suppose my lady would know!” Boiled down, her tale amounted to no more than this. A certain Dr. Babbington Somebody-or-other had offered Mr. Grimshaw some post in France. Cicely having grasped this as a fact, said:
“And Mr. Grimshaw has accepted the appointment?”
“Well, no, miss. Not to say—accepted. Leastways, he give me to understand only yesterday that he ’adn’t answered the letter, but he’ll go. Me and Rockram is of the same mind about that.”
“But why should he go?”
“Because, dearie, ’e’s wanted here. In my long life, I’ve never known a man to be out o’ the way when ’e wasn’t wanted, or reely in it when he was. Mr. Grimshaw’ll leave us, just because we can’t do without him.”
Cicely couldn’t cope with this. She said, with some tartness: