She was suddenly interrupted by a tap at the knocker.
Allowing as many minutes to elapse as she thought would have sufficed for her ascent from the kitchen, she once more opened the door. It was only a beggar—a ragged disreputable man—and she was about to shut the door in his face, with that summary politeness so well understood by servant girls, when a thought struck her.
“Oh, sir,” she said, “would you like a cup of tea?”
The man evidently thought he was being made game of, for his face assumed such a threatening aspect that the small domestic incontinently shut the door with a sudden bang. The beggar amused himself by battering it with his stick for five minutes and then went away.
The next visitor was a lady.
“Is Miss Pritty at home, child?” she asked, regarding the domestic with a half-patronising, half-pitying air.
“No, ma’am, she’s hout.”
“Oh! That’s a pity,” said the lady, taking a book out of her pocket. “Will you tell her that I called for her subscription to the new hospital that is about to be built in the town? Your mistress does not know me personally, but she knows all about the hospital, and this book, which I shall call for to-morrow, will speak for itself. Be sure you give it to her, child.”
“Yes, ma’am. And, please, ma’am, would you like a cup of tea?”
The lady, who happened to possess a majestic pair of eyes, looked so astonished that the small domestic could scarcely contain herself.