“I’ll be the kitchenmaid, if necessary,” said Wally cheerfully. “What does one do?”
Allenby shuddered visibly.
“My niece, I am sure, will do all she can, sir,” he said. His gaze dwelt on Wally’s uniform; it was easy to see him quailing in spirit before the vision of an officer with a kitchen mop. “Perhaps, miss, if you would like to see the rooms?”
They trooped upstairs, the silent house suddenly waking to life with the quick footsteps and cheery voices. The big front bedrooms were at once put aside for future guests. Norah fell in love with, and promptly appropriated, a little room that appeared to have been tucked into a corner by the architect, as an afterthought. It was curiously shaped, with a quaint little nook for the bed, and had a big window furnished with a low cushioned seat, wide enough for any one to curl up with a book. Mr. Linton and the boys selected rooms principally remarkable for bareness. Jim had a lively hatred for furniture; they left him discussing with Allenby the question of removing a spindle-legged writing table. Mr. Linton and Norah went downstairs, with sinking hearts, to encounter Miss de Lisle.
On the way appeared Sarah; very clean and starched as to dress, very pink and shiny as to complexion. Her hair was strained back from her forehead so tightly it appeared to be pulling her eyes up.
“Oh, Sarah,” said Mr. Linton, pausing.
“Yes, sir,” said Sarah meekly.
“You may be required to help the cook for a few days until we—er—until the staff is complete,” said her employer. “Your uncle tells me you will have no objection.”
“It being understood, sir, as it is only tempory,” said Sarah firmly.
“Oh, quite,” said Mr. Linton hurriedly.