But the kindness that underlay everything in the daily life of the Attertons, without ever being seen or spoken of, made it a matter of course that the girls should go over for a week when they were wanted. Norah went less often that Elizabeth, because of her public engagements and her Club in London; still, she took her turn all the same.
“Is Miss Elizabeth Atterton at home?” said Andy, his heart hammering so loudly against his ribs that he thought the superior maid must hear it and wonder. But she replied with a calm which was equal to that of any powdered footman—
“Not at home, sir.”
It may sound foolish, or as if Andy were the neurotic young man he certainly was not, but the bare fact remains that Andy felt physically sick and the garden rocked about him. The reaction was so great, and the feverish night had unnerved him.
“When will she be back?” he managed to ask at last.
Then the superior housemaid proved that soft hearts do beat even under starched garments, and a demeanour so stiff that any softness at all might, at first sight, seem incredible.
“The ladies have gone out for the day, sir,” she replied. “I’m sorry to say they won’t be back until evening.” She paused, then added, in almost a confidential tone, “Can I give any message?”
“Please tell Miss Atterton I called, and was sorry to find her out,” he said dejectedly.
“Yes, sir.” The parlour-maid had once had a young man in the weak and low-waged past, and she knew how it felt. “May I offer you any refreshment, sir? I am sure my mistress would wish——”
“No, thank you,” said Andy, climbing back into his cart. “Good morning.”