Your LITTLE Pansy Blossom.
P.S.—Urmintrude is quite well.
There was a pause after the man had finished reading. He frowned, bit his lip, and stared at the floor. At last he flung a question at his wife. "What's wrong with your knees?"
She started and flushed. "They are—they are a little swollen and sore—with housework—kneeling about, you know," she murmured apologetically. "Does Pansy mention it?"
"What housework have you had to do?"
"Only the keep of Laburnum Villa."
"But there was a servant; I saw her."
"Oh, she only came for that afternoon, because I—I didn't want to let you in myself...."
"... And you ask me to believe that you—you have been a maid-of-all-work for the past two years?"
"Oh, no, I do not ask you to believe it," came the disdainful retort. "I do not mind whether you believe it or not."