‘There’s no harm done, thank goodness,’ said Marion.

‘"All’s well that ends well,"’ quoted Henry.

‘I’m fair relieved to get that load orf my mind,’ supplemented Elizabeth.

‘Mama, dear,’ put in The Kid, glad, no doubt, that at last she was able to please, ‘I think that now I really can be——­’

‘It doesn’t matter now, darling,’ I explained.  ’You’d better lie perfectly still and let it pass off.’

‘Must I, Mama?’

We all moved towards the door.  The relief from the strain was apparent in our joyous faces and lightened mien.  We sang out ‘Good-night’ to The Kid, and went out laughing and chatting.  Half-way down the stairs we heard her calling.

‘Mama, dear.’

‘What is it?’ we all asked in chorus.

‘Please may I have my custard now?’

CHAPTER IX

Being an extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington:  Thursday.  A most remarkable and perplexing thing has happened.  Never, for a moment, could I have dreamed of such an improbable and embarrassing occurrence.

It was Elizabeth who first brought it to my notice, and I can only wish she had never made that strange discovery which is causing me so much uneasiness.  I was spending the day with Netta, and had gone into the kitchen for a moment, when Elizabeth asked if she might speak to me in confidence.  This rather surprised me, because she does not, as a rule, show such diffidence about speaking (in confidence or otherwise) to any one.

‘Is it anything very important?’ I inquired.

She seemed to hesitate and then jerked out, ’Well, miss, it’s about that there Mr. Roarings.’

I at once felt rather troubled on Netta’s account.  Perhaps Elizabeth was on the verge of giving notice as a protest against the extra work involved by having that monstrously untidy man about the place.  Why Netta tolerates him with his slovenly habits is beyond my comprehension.

‘What has he been doing now?’ I asked.  ’Surely he hasn’t started another invention?’ I never before realized what a thoroughly untidy, disordered business inventing could be until I saw him at it.

‘Oh, no, miss, nothin’ like that, only—­only—­well, it was what I see when ‘e was standin’ in the droring-room the other day, an’ I was just at the door——­’

’I quite understand, Elizabeth.  He has burnt a hole in that beautiful pile carpet.’

‘No, miss, he——­’

‘Then he has scorched the rose silk tapestry on the couch!’ It is my opinion that he should not be allowed in the drawing-room at all.  He isn’t safe with a pipe in his mouth or a box of matches in his pocket.  Henry ought to take out a special insurance against Mr. Rawlings.