Dominated by his manhood, her Grace gave over, and whispered:
"What is it?"
The paragon, with gestures of secrecy such as might well have attracted the attention of a universe, impended over her, and mumbled into her ear:
"They ain't gardeners."
"What! They are really footmen? Then why do they dig, and——"
"They ain't footmen."
"Not footmen! Then what sort of servants are they?"
"They ain't servants. Give over! Don't talk so loud," said Mr. Bush, talking very loud himself.
Her Grace was now growing alarmed, but she endeavoured to force her bass voice to become tenor as she whispered:
"Not servants? Then what are they here for?"