“I say his name’s Harry!” whispered Sally Scuttle, the housemaid, into Benson’s—we beg pardon—Miss Benson’s, the ladies’-maid’s ear, who was standing before her, peeping past the faded curtains of the chintz-room.
“I say it’s John!” replied Miss Benson, now that Mr. Pringle’s head appeared at the window.
“I say it’s Joseph!” interposed Betty Bone, the cook, who stood behind Sally Scuttle, at which speculation they all laughed.
“Hoot, no! he’s not a bit like Joseph,” replied Sally, eyeing Billy as he now alighted.
“Lauk! he’s quite a young gent,” observed Bone.
“Young! to be sure!” replied Miss Henson; “you don’t s’pose we want any old’uns here.”
“He’ll do nicely for Miss;” observed Sally.
“And why not for Miss F.?” asked Henson, from whom she had just received an old gown.
“Well, either,” rejoined Sally; “only Miss had the last chance.”
“Oh, curates go for nothin’!” retorted Benson; “if it had been a captin it would have been something like.”