“I suppose,” I said, “that someone has heard her address us as sir or ma’am and has immediately wrested her from us as a paragon. All I can say is, they’ll be disappointed.”
“It isn’t that,” said Griselda. “Nobody else wants her. I don’t see how they could. It’s her feelings. They’re upset because Lettice Protheroe said she didn’t dust properly.”
Griselda often comes out with surprising statements, but this seemed to me so surprising that I questioned it. It seemed to me the most unlikely thing in the world that Lettice Protheroe should go out of her way to interfere in our domestic affairs and reprove our maid for slovenly housework. It was so completely unLettice-like, and I said so.
“I don’t see,” I said, “what our dust has to do with Lettice Protheroe.”
“Nothing at all,” said my wife. “That’s why it’s so unreasonable. I wish you’d go and talk to Mary yourself. She’s in the kitchen.”
I had no wish to talk to Mary on the subject, but Griselda, who is very energetic and quick, fairly pushed me through the baize door into the kitchen before I had time to rebel.
Mary was peeling potatoes at the sink.
“Er—good afternoon,” I said nervously.
Mary looked up and snorted, but made no other response.
“ Mrs. Clement tells me that you wish to leave us,” I said.
Mary condescended to reply to this.
“There’s some things,” she said darkly, “as no girl can be asked to put up with.”
“Will you be more explicit, please?”