“Bell’s room—a servant’s room!”—he repeated blankly.
“It is very inconvenient for Bell, of course,” said Mrs. Fausset. “She will have to put up with an extra bed in the housemaid’s room; and as she has always been used to a room of her own, she made herself rather disagreeable about the change.”
Mr. Fausset was silent, and seemed thoughtful. Mildred had pulled Fay away from the table and led her to a distant window, where a pair of Virginian love-birds were twittering in their gilded cage, half hidden amidst the bank of feathery white spirea and yellow marguerites which filled the recess.
“I should like to see the room,” said Fausset presently, when his wife had put down her teacup.
“My dear John, why should you trouble yourself about such a detail?”
“I want to do my duty to the girl—if I can.”
“I think you might trust such a small matter to me, or even to my housekeeper,” Maud Fausset answered with an offended air. “However, you are quite at liberty to make a personal inspection. Bell is very particular, and any room she occupied is sure to be nice. But you can judge for yourself. The room is on the same floor as Mildred’s.”
This last remark implied that to occupy any apartment on that floor must be a privilege.
“But not with the same aspect.”
“Isn’t it? No, I suppose not. The windows look the other way,” said Mrs. Fausset innocently.