She maundered on as Jill retreated, aware that the crisis was postponed.
"That's right, Cookie—you'll see to it? You always make a ripping grill."
"And may Heaven forgive me for the fib," she added as she ran upstairs.
"I wonder why it's such a muddle? Always changing servants like this?"
But in her heart she knew the fault lay in the lack of proper management. The justice of her clear young brain told her that never could they expect a good class of maid to stay in this disorganized "feckless" house! The discomfort of the servants' quarters, the wretched food and poor pay forced Mrs. Uniacke to take the riff-raff whose characters held obvious flaws—like the unsober creature below or Lizzie, lazy and insolent.
And it struck the girl with sudden force that her Mother was giving up her life to secure the Vote with the main object of ameliorating the condition of women.
Yet here in her own small kingdom were servants badly housed and fed, expected to work for a barren wage sixteen hours without complaint.
And there was Roddy—her own brother—with riddled socks and worn-out clothes at a cheap school, while his mother spent their meagre surplus in outside expenses involved by this omnivorous Cause!
A memory of old times when her father lived rose in her mind. For Colonel Uniacke had held a firm rule over the house. In common with many retired officers, he supervised the daily ménage, with the result that when he died his wife missed his wise authority.
And if they couldn't govern their houses—Jill's active mind ran on—with the skill of the "old-fashioned woman," how were they going to govern the Empire?