In the kitchen which he had left conversation had now resolved itself into a monologue by Mrs. Evans, on the Modern Girl. It need not be reported in detail, for Mrs. Evans on the Modern Girl was very like all the other members of the older generation who from time to time have given their views on the subject in the pulpit and the press. Briefly, Mrs. Evans did not know what girls were coming to nowadays. They spoke irreverently in the presence of their elders. They lacked respect. They thrust themselves forward. They annoyed good men to the extent of only half finishing their breakfasts. What Mrs. Evans's mother would have said if Mrs. Evans in her girlhood had behaved as Rosa had just behaved was a problem which Mrs. Evans frankly admitted herself unable to solve.
And at the end of it all the only remark which Rosa vouchsafed was a repetition of the one which had caused Sergeant-Major Flannery to leave the table short one egg and a slice of bacon of his normal allowance.
"I didn't think she was so beautiful," said Rosa, tossing a bobbed auburn head.
Whether this deplorable attitude would have reduced Mrs. Evans to a despairing silence or caused her to repeat her observations with renewed energy will never be known, for at this moment one of the bells above the dresser jangled noisily.
"That's Him," said Mrs. Evans. "Go and see what He wants." She usually referred to the proprietor of Healthward Ho by means of a pronoun with a capital letter, disapproving, though she recognized its aptness, of her assistant's preference for the soubriquet of Old Monkey Brand. "If it's His breakfast, tell Him it'll be ready in a minute."
Rosa departed.
"It's not His breakfast," she announced, returning. "It's the Case Upstairs's breakfast. Old Monkey Brand wants to have a look at it before it's took him."
"Don't call Him Old Monkey Brand."
"Well, it's what he looks like, isn't it?"
"Never mind," replied Mrs. Evans, and resumed her speculations as to what her mother would have said.