have no servant and no means of getting one. I will go back to London at once. I am sorry.”
“The last train’s gone,” said Miss Sheepmarsh. “Mother, ask Mr Selborne to come in, and I’ll get him something to eat.”
“My dear,” said the mother, “surely Mary”
“My dear mother,” said the girl, “you know Mary is having her supper.”
The bewildered Selborne presently found himself seated at the white-spread, silver-sparkling table, served with food and drink by this Hebe with the honest eyes. He exerted himself to talk with the mother—not of the difference between a lodger and a tenant, but of music, art, and the life of the great world.
It was the girl who brought the conversation down from the gossip of Courts and concert-rooms to the tenant’s immediate needs.
“If you mean to stay, you could have a woman in from the village,” said she.
“But wouldn’t you rather I went?” he said.
“Why should we? We want to let the cottage, or we shouldn’t have advertised it.
