Feeling vaguely that she had given notice in a dignified, Biblical manner suited to her position as housekeeper at a vicarage, she walked from the room.
But when she reached the door the air blew in from the garden, and a little shower of rose-leaves fluttered down through the sunshine. She stopped short with a sudden stunned contraction of the heart.
What was she doing? What on earth was she doing? Had she been mad?
She passed a handkerchief over her forehead and came back slowly into the room.
“I apologise,” she said breathlessly. “My temper got the better of me. Pray think no more about it.”
Andy turned round from the window.
“I think we will not discuss the matter further,” he said. “Please consider your resignation accepted.”
He was pleased now at the thought of getting rid of her—though if she had not given notice, he would have kept her for an indefinite period, with a man’s usual dislike for any change in his domestic arrangements.
“Very well,” replied Mrs. Jebb, gathering some remnants of dignity round her, “it must, of course, be as you wish.”
She attempted to flutter with her usual light air towards the door, but just before she reached it she stopped short and began to cry.