“And who is the housekeeper? Is she a lady?”
“She hasn’t said so, yet,” said Mr. Linton. It was evident that he considered this a point in the absent housekeeper’s favour. Miss de Lisle flamed anew.
“I cannot sit with your housekeeper,” she averred. “You must remember, Mr. Linton, that I told you when engaging with you, that I expected special treatment.”
“And you must remember,” said Mr. Linton, with sudden firmness, “that we ourselves have not been half an hour in the house, and that we must have time to make arrangements. As for what you require, we will see into that later.”
Miss de Lisle sniffed.
“It’s not what I am accustomed to,” she said. “However, I will wait. And the kitchenmaid?”
“I can’t make a kitchenmaid out of nothing,” said Mr. Linton gloomily. “I hope to hear of one in a day or two; I have written to Ireland.”
“To Ireland!” ejaculated Miss de Lisle in accents of horror. “My dear sir, do you know what Irish maids are like?”
“They’re the nicest maids I know,” said Norah, speaking for the first time. “And so kind and obliging.”
“H’m,” sniffed the cook-lady. “But you are not sure of obtaining even one of these treasures?”