Gervase had been cleaning the Ford lorry, having been given to understand that his self-will and eccentricity with regard to Ashford were to devolve no extra duties on the chauffeur. His appearance, therefore, when he entered the drawing-room, was deplorable. He wore a dirty suit of overalls, his hands were black with oil and grime, and his hair was hanging into his eyes.
“How dare you come in like that, sir?” shouted Sir John.
“I’m sorry, sir—I thought you wanted me in a hurry.”
“So I do—but I didn’t know you were looking like a sweep. Why can’t you behave like other people after dinner?”
“I had to clean the car, sir. But I’ll go and wash.”
“No, stay where you are—George wants to speak to you.”
George did not look as if he did.
“It’s about this new folly of yours,” continued Sir John. “George was quite horrified when I told him you’d been to confession.”
“Oh, come, not ‘horrified’,” said George uneasily—“it was only the circumstances.... Thought you might have stuck to your parish church.”
“And you’d have heard his confession!” sneered Sir John.