“But I asked Miss Molly to make arrangements,” protested Selwyn feebly.
“And did you expect her to do so, sir, may I ask?” inquired Jane with withering scorn.
“Do you mean to tell me that Miss Molly gave you no orders about preparing a room?” countered the doctor, skillfully avoiding the point raised?
“No, sir, she didn't. And if I'm kep' here talking much longer, there won't be one prepared, neither! 'Tis no use crying over spilt milk. Let me get on with the airing of my sheets, and do you talk to the young lady whiles I see to it.”
And Jane departed forthwith about her business.
“Jane Crab,” observed Selwyn, twinkling, “has been with us five-and-twenty years. I had better do as she tells me.” He threw a doleful glance at the unappetizing tea in Sara's cup. “I positively dare not order you fresh tea—in the circumstances. Jane would probably retaliate with an ultimatum involving a rigid choice between tea and the preparation of your room, accompanied by a pithy summary of the capabilities of one pair of hands.”
“Wouldn't you like some tea yourself?” hazarded Sara.
“I should—very much. But I see no prospect of getting any while Jane maintains her present attitude of mind.”
“Then—if you will show me the kitchen—I'll make some,” announced Sara valiantly.
Selwyn regarded her with a pitying smile.