“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Jim’s mother, “what is to be done?”
“These things are sent to try us,” said Jim, philosophically. “The Hobson Family has no other raison d’être.”
“Alack! alack!” gasped Jim’s mother.
The little maid-of-all-work entered the room. With her prim freckled countenance and her hair, which like herself was quite unnecessarily pretty, done over a roll, she conveyed somewhat the impression of a small cat who has the furtive air of a confirmed cream stealer. Also she had the air of one who takes an immense interest in everything.
“Miss Burden,” announced the little maid-of-all-work, as though it gave her great pleasure to do so. “Miss Perry. The Earl of Cheriton.”
Mrs. Lascelles laid “Pêcheur d’Islande” upon the varnished boards. She rose to greet Miss Perry with an exclamation. In the circumstances it was most natural, for Miss Perry was looking neither more nor less than a goddess.
Jim’s mother took a hand of Miss Perry in each of her own.
“You are too wonderful,” said she. “You take away one’s breath. I always predicted that you would grow up a beautiful girl; but, really, who could have expected this.”
Miss Perry said nothing at first. She merely proceeded to hug Jim’s mother in the traditional Widdiford manner.
Mrs. Lascelles appeared to undergo some little personal inconvenience in the process.