“Well, we’ll all help,” said Norah. “Sarah will give you a hand until we get settled, and my brother and Mr. Meadows and I can do anything. There can’t be such an awful lot of work!” She stopped. Miss de Lisle was regarding her with an eye in which horror and amazement were mingled.
“But we don’t do such things in England!” she gasped. “Your brother! And the other officer! In my kitchen, may I ask?”
“Well, one moment you seem afraid of too much work, and the next, of too much help,” said Norah, laughing. “You’d find them very useful.”
“I trust that I have never been afraid of work,” said Miss de Lisle severely. “But I have my position to consider. There are duties which belong to it, and other duties which do not. My province is cooking. Cooking. And nothing else. Who, I ask, is to keep my kitchen clean?”
“Me, if necessary,” said a voice in which Allenby the butler was clearly merged in Allenby the sergeant. “Begging your pardon, sir.” He was deferential again—save for the eye with which he glared upon Miss de Lisle. “I think, perhaps, between me and Sarah and—er—this lady, we can arrange matters for the present without troubling you or Miss Linton.”
“Do,” said his employer thankfully. He beat a retreat, followed by Norah—rather to Norah’s disappointment. She was beginning to feel warlike, and hankered for the battle, with Allenby ranged on her side.
“I’m going to love Allenby,” she said with conviction, as they gained the outer regions.
“He’s a trump!” said her father. “But isn’t that a terrible woman, Norah!”
“Here’s another, anyhow,” said Norah with a wild inclination to giggle.
A dismal cab halted at a side entrance, and the driver was struggling with a stout iron trunk. The passenger, a tall, angular woman, was standing in the doorway.