“They ought to be made to have them—by law!”
“But, my dear Lady Marchendale——”
“I see her ladyship’s point.”
“Every girl ought to have her own room.”
“Of course, most certainly! But in the matter of emigration——”
“Emigration? What has emigration to do with the Shop Girls’ Self Help Society?”
“My dear Lady Marchendale, we are discussing the scheme for sending young women to the Colonies.”
“Bless me, I must have been asleep. I remember. Look at that lad of yours, Mrs. Canterton, out there in the garden. I’m sure he has cut his hand.”
Lady Marchendale might be rather deaf, but she had unusually sharp eyes, and Gertrude Canterton, rising in her chair, saw one of the lads employed in the home garden running across the lawn, and wrapping a piece of sacking round his left hand and wrist.
She hurried to the window.