My servant is painfully dramatic on occasions.
"It was an accident," I hastened to explain. I was afraid she might lock the Professor in the cistern-room, or some other dark and unholy place. "He was driving an aerodrome. An aerodrome is——" but Amelia was not in the least interested in my explanation.
"What's he examining the drains for?"
"He is afraid we shall be down with typhoid."
Amelia jumped into the air and dropped with a thud on to her now decently flat-heeled shoes.
"Tompkinses' grandfather died of typhus."
"On the maternal side?" I asked affably.
She took no notice of my question.
"He lay for twelve weeks."
"Well, that was better than standing," I said. She resumed her halibut-eyed expression, and—left me.