He was crossing the hall on the way to the cloak-room, when who should come tripping downstairs but Mary herself, trim and neat as ever, but casting a glance the reverse of approving at the strange young woman who had come to supplant herself.
“Good morning, Mary. I’ve come to apply for the place,” said Rex gravely; then suddenly picking up his skirts, displayed his trousered legs underneath, and executed a wild schottische round the hall.
Mary gave a shriek, put her hand to her heart, and sank down on the stairs, brushes and all, in a breathless heap. “Oh, Mr Rex, oh! I never in all my life! Oh, what a turn you gave me! Oh! oh! oh!” And she gasped and panted till Norah became alarmed, and went up to pat her on the shoulder.
“Don’t, Mary, don’t! Oh, Mary, I wish it was all fun. I wish you weren’t going.”
“So do I, Miss Norah. I don’t want to leave you, but Miss Hilary—”
“I don’t want you to go, Mary. I would rather have you than anyone else.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” Rex pranced round the hall in wild delight. “Look at that now! Reginald Freer, Esquire, peacemaker and housemaid-waitress. Apply—Brathey Manor—”
“What in the world is the matter? Has everyone gone mad? How am I supposed to write in this uproar?” Mr Bertrand appeared at his study door with an expression of long-enduring misery, whereat there was a general stampede, and the house subsided into silence.