“Bradbury,” she cried, “are you mad? Of course Mr. Worple must go if Vosper says so. Don’t you realise that Vosper will leave us if we don’t humour him?”
“I should worry about him leaving!”
A strange, set look came into Mrs. Fisher’s face.
“Bradbury,” she said, “if Vosper leaves us, I shall die. And, what is more, just before dying I shall get a divorce. Yes, I will.”
“But, darling,” gasped Bradbury, “Rupert Worple! Old Rupie Worple! We’ve been friends all our lives.”
“I don’t care.”
“We were freshers at Sing-Sing together.”
“I don’t care.”
“We were initiated into the same Frat, the dear old Cracka-Bitta-Rock, on the same day.”
“I don’t care. Heaven has sent me the perfect butler, and I’m not going to lose him.”