There was just the flicker of a mischievous smile
on her face.
"I suppose I ought to help them," he said without enthusiasm. "But I'll
go and have a bath now. You'll let me be your scullion when you're
getting lunch ready, eh, Betty?" He added hastily, "I think Timmy ought
to stay in bed all day to-day. You _will_ let me take the place of Timmy,
won't you, Betty?"
"That will be very kind of you," she replied demurely. And then, before
she could say a word of protest, he had taken the heavy tray out of her
hands. "You'll find me much more useful than Timmy," he said, with a
touch of his old masterfulness. "Now you lead the way up, and I'll hand
you over the tray at Nanna's door."
CHAPTER XXI
Some three or four hours later, Miss Pendarth, attired in a queer kind
of brown smock which fell in long folds about her tall, still elegant
figure, and with a gardening basket slung over her arm, stood by the
glass door giving into her garden, when suddenly she heard a loud double
knock on her stout, early Victorian knocker.
She turned quickly into her morning room. Who could it be? She knew the
knock and ring of each of her neighbours, and this was none of them.
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