"Yes 'm," said Alf feebly.
"You, I suppose, are the butler. Is your master in?"
"Yes 'm ... I'm ... that is, 'e's ... er, I'm 'im," was the lucid reply. It conveyed nothing whatever to the lady. The vicar, however, who had realized from the top-hat that he could not be speaking to a butler, rose to the occasion.
"My name is Davies," he said courteously. "Er—my wife—I have called to—er—the Manor pew...."
Alf, feeling a shade happier, put his hat on again.
"Sit down, sir," he said. "Won't the lady take a chair—that is a—er—cushion?"
"I will not," snapped Mrs. Davies fiercely. "I am shocked and astonished at the things I have seen and the way I have been treated, and if you are responsible I demand an explanation, Mr.... Mr...."
"Ig ... Wentworth," supplied Alf, remembering at the last moment his change of name.
Once more he clutched his hat. It seemed to afford him moral support in dealing with this terrifying lady, and he clung to it for the remainder of the interview.