"What about old clothes women, mum?"
I ignored her question, which seemed to me unusually foolish, and asked her what she meant by wearing the tea-rose slippers, which I had expressly forbidden.
"Go and change them." I commanded, "when you have announced the lady."
Her "announcing" was unusual. "The lady, mum. Sit down, please." At which she pushed a chair behind my visitor's legs with so much force that she simply fell on to it.
"You must excuse my servant," I said apologetically when Amelia had vanished. "She is utterly untrained but invaluable." I held out my hand as I spoke, which the lady touched coldly.
"My name is Mrs. Cobbold, and I live at the Old Grange," she announced with a trumpet note.
"Oh, of course, Amelia forgot to mention it," I said politely.
"She didn't know it." She was aggrieved now.
"She could hardly mention it then," I said smiling, wishing to cheer her up. But this simple and natural comment appeared to have the opposite effect, for her brow lowered, and the jet butterfly in her bonnet quivered ominously.
"I have called because I heard you were a—an invalid, Mrs. Westover—that you were confined to your couch."