“Then you thought wrong,” interposed Mrs Beecher repressively. “I haven't ever held with Mrs Matthews' nerves, and no more I ever shall, but if she had an attack, which I doubt, it wasn't along of Miss Stella whom she doesn't care two pins for, if you was to ask me, but because of Mr Guy being shipped off to Brazil.”

“Oh, the Master isn't ever going to do that, not really, is he?” exclaimed Mary, aghast.

“So I believe,” said Mrs Beecher, rising ponderously and moving towards the stove. “Not that I'm one for nosing into other people's business, but I had it from Miss Harriet as long ago as last Thursday. It's time the Early Teas went up. Hand me over the caddy, Rose, there's a good girl.”

Rose complied with this request, and stood waiting while Mrs Beecher filled three little teapots, and one glass tumbler in a silver holder. “You might carry Miss Stella's tray up for me, dear,” said Rose to Mary, receiving the tumbler of hot water from Mrs Beecher, and placing it upon a small tray.

Mary finished her own tea in two gulps, and got up. She had her own work to do, and plenty of it, but if you were only an under-housemaid it paid you to keep in with the upper servants. She picked up Miss Stella's tray, and followed Rose up the back-stairs, Beecher bringing up the rear with the Master's and Mr Guy's trays poised on his capable hands.

Miss Stella was not awake, and, as usual, she had left her clothes scattered about the floor. Mary drew back the curtains, tidied the clothes, and slipped out of the room again. Miss Stella wouldn't thank you for waking her.

Mr Guy's tray was reposing on the table in the hall, and Rose was still in Mrs Matthews' room. Mary could hear Mrs Matthews' slightly plaintive voice raised behind the shut door. She was just about to go and fill the hot-water cans, when the door of the Master's room opened, and Beecher came out rather quickly.