‘You need not take the trouble to explain—you wish to leave on Saturday week with the others, I suppose?’
‘’Ees—leastways—’
‘That will do,’ said Rosalie. ‘Now, Sam Belbin, you wish to leave too?’
Sam Belbin made a step forward and glanced round appealingly.
By this time his companions were looking very blank. The sudden assault by which they had expected to frighten their mistress into capitulation had apparently failed. Their respective attitudes had changed; she was calm and unmoved, and they were beginning to be seriously uneasy. Good places and regular pay were not to be picked up every day in that part of the world.
‘Well, Sam?’ said Rosalie kindly, as though to help him out.
Sam was the chief of the three ‘dairy chaps,’ a good-looking young fellow of about four-and-twenty, with a dark, good-humoured countenance and a certain jaunty air. As he now advanced a smile flashed suddenly over his face, his white teeth gleaming out pleasantly.
‘Mum,’ he said. ‘Mum—Mrs. Fiander—’
She smiled too.
‘Well, Sam, what have you got to say? The usual thing, I suppose?’