“Hold the frying-pan straight!” was Dolly’s stern reply.
“Oo, miss,” said the irrepressible one, staring, wide-eyed, “but he’s coming to the window, and it’s—”
“Go on with your work!” said Dolly, in such a tone that Maggie went on. A shadow fell across Dolly’s hands.
“Good-morning, Sister Dolly,” said Lucian de Saumarez, leaning his elbows on the sill.
“Don’t call me that; I’m not a Roman Catholic,” said Dolly, not too graciously.
“Nor I, praise the pigs!”
“Why, do you dislike them so?”
“I hate the doctrine of confession and the system of spiritual directors,” said Lucian, with unusual emphasis. “I call it morally degrading—however, I didn’t come here to talk theology. Is the agrarian barbarian anywhere about?”
“Bernard’ll be in to breakfast at half-past seven, if you mean him.”
“Then I guess I’ll wait. Hullo, Maggie; how’s the headache?”