“Jack and Mary Trevor, of course.”
“It isn’t! Miss Mary Trevor and Master Jack Trevor, if you please!”
“If you’re miss, I’m mister. I’m not going to be called ‘master,’ as if I were a kid!”
“All right, then—Miss and Mr Trevor. I’ll speak, because I’m the lady, and give him the card to carry up.”
Jack was not at all anxious to take the lead, so he assented by means of the usual grunt, and when the door of the flat was reached, and the man-servant appeared in response to a furious onslaught on the electric bell, he stood by silently while Jill conducted operations.
“Does a gentleman called General Digby live here?”
“He does, madam.”
Jill gave a toss to her saucy head. She had never before been addressed as “madam,” and the sensation was distinctly agreeable.
“We want to see him, please.”
The butler looked in hesitating fashion from one of the strange visitors to the other—Jill with her elfin locks, shabby hat and thick woollen gloves; Jack with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his school cap at the back of his head.