"Now, Bob, you're talking nonsense," she tittered. "Aren't we making mountains out of molehills? I have lots to do, and hate being rushed. I can stay with Mrs. Jackson to-night, and you and I will set out for Leyburn early to-morrow. Then, if you don't care to face the return journey, you shall take train to Nuttonby and drive here. Isn't that a good plan?"
"We must adopt it, at any rate," he said grudgingly. "But you promise to remain hidden all day?"
"Yes, even that. Now, let's stop squabbling, and eat. Tell me something about India. It must be an awfully jolly place. If I went there, should I be a mem-sahib?"
"It is highly probable."
"What a funny way to put it! Aren't all English ladies in India mem-sahibs?"
"The married ones are. The spinsters are miss-sahibs."
She laughed delightedly, and without any sense of awkwardness because of her own blunder.
"Naturally they would be. That's rather neat when you come to think of it," she cried.
Old jokes are ever new in someone's ears, or no comic paper could live beyond a year. When Betty came in with a gooseberry tart and cream, she heard the two calling each other "Bob" and "Meg," and reported thereon in the kitchen.
"It seems to me she's larnt summat (something) i' Cornwall," commented Mrs. Jackson.