When I got back to the Vicarage I found that we were in the middle of a domestic crisis.
Griselda met me in the hall and with tears in her eyes dragged me into the drawing-room.
“She’s going.”
“Who’s going?”
“Mary. She’s given notice.”
I really could not take the announcement in a tragic spirit.
“Well,” I said, “we’ll have to get another servant.”
It seemed to me a perfectly reasonable thing to say. When one servant goes, you get another. I was at a loss to understand Griselda’s look of reproach.
“Len—you are absolutely heartless. You don’t care .”
I didn’t. In fact, I felt almost lighthearted at the prospect of no more burnt puddings and undercooked vegetables.
“I’ll have to look for a girl, and find one, and train her,” continued Griselda in a voice of acute self-pity.
“Is Mary trained?” I said.
“Of course she is.”