"Do you mean to say you are quitting of your own accord?" she gasped.
"Yes, madam."
"Don't call me 'madam'! I've told you that before. So—so, you are going to work for her in spite of me, are you? It's all been arranged, has it? You two have—"
"He is coming to me today," said young Mrs. Millidew sweetly. "Aren't you, Trotter?"
"No, I am not!" he exploded.
She stopped short on the stairs, and gave him a startled, incredulous look. Any one else but Trotter would have been struck by her loveliness.
"You're not?" cried Mrs. Millidew from the top step. It was almost a cry of relief. "Do you mean that?"
"Absolutely."
His employer fumbled for a pocket lost among the folds of her dressing-gown.
"Well, you can't resign, my man. Don't think for a minute you can resign," she cried out shrilly.
He thought she was looking for a handkerchief.
"But I insist, Mrs. Millidew, that I—"
"You can't resign for the simple reason that you're already fired," she sputtered. "I never allow any one to give me notice, young man. No one ever left me without being discharged, let me tell you that. Where the dev— Oh, here it is!" She not only had found the pocket but the crisp slip of paper that it contained. "Here is a check for your week's wages. It isn't up till next Monday, but take it and get out. I never want to see your ugly face again."
