Sitting in her dining-room, Lucy could hear through its floor the sound of the voices in the kitchen, though the words, of course, were inaudible. The conversation of these courting evenings did not seem very lively. Jane said a few words, and the gruffer voice replied with a monosyllable, and then there would be a long pause, and presently the performance would be repeated.
But one evening a week or two after Easter, the conversation seemed to have grown much livelier. It was the man who had the most to say, and he spoke faster and in a higher key than before.
“Is he waking up at last?” thought unsuspicious Lucy, “or is it possible that they have had a little tiff, and that he is defending himself or scolding her? Perhaps he does not like her new bonnet.”
For Lucy had seen Jane go out on the previous Sunday evening in fresh and gorgeous spring attire, her neat brown dress and black jacket crowned by an incompatible hat, round whose crown pink, green and blue roses, feathers and rosettes “screamed” loudly at each other. Lucy had thought to herself that her mother, in the old days, would at once have “put her foot down” on such headgear, but Lucy’s own sense of fairness rebelled against any arbitrary interference with a girl’s taste in dress (when going about her own business) simply because the girl was in her wage-paid service at other times.
“I have seen Florence in hats I have liked as little, though they were different,” thought Lucy. “I know many mistresses can’t bear their servants to copy their style of dress—dear mother would have regarded it as an unpardonable impertinence—but I should be only too proud and happy if my servants would copy mine! Pollie was turning in that direction—with just a few extra bows and flowers, and silk velvet ribbon where I put modest braid!”
But next week, when the courting evening came round, the hitherto silent lover was again voluble. Even sounds of laughter arose—a thing unprecedented! Lucy was always watchful to hear the kitchen door close and the manly step mount the area steps at the precise hour she had named. She had never had any reason to complain on this score. The carpenter had taken his departure with painful punctuality. But to-night, the nearest church-clock chimed nine, and the chat in the kitchen went gaily on. Presently Lucy looked at her watch—it was half-past nine. She hated to begin fault-finding for any trifling accidental lapse. Still it was time the supper-tray was brought up.
She had her hand on the bell when there was quite a lively stampede in the kitchen, the area door closed with a hilarious bang, fleet feet mounted the area steps as if by two at a time, and the area gate clanged to the sound of a merry whistle.
Jane, with the supper-tray, seemed more alert than usual, almost officious in her endeavour to do of her own accord little things of which Mrs. Challoner generally had to remind her.
Next week, when the same evening came round, and the kitchen voices were again audible, it chanced that Lucy found she had left her housekeeping book on the kitchen dresser. She thought to herself that she would not ring for it, but would fetch it herself, and so take opportunity of keeping in touch with the domestic idyll whose new developments were beginning to interest her.
But when she opened the kitchen door she started and almost cried out.