THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ETHEL LINA WHITE. Ethel Lina White
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frock of yellow floral voile, printed with marigolds and a large flopping hat—both copied from an Ascot photograph in the Daily Mail.
She did not seem surprised to see Ignatius, who made the conventional opening gambit.
"Haven't we met before?"
"I wasn't born yesterday," remarked Ada instantly.
"I see that you are as sensible as you are pretty," said Ignatius. "As a sensible man, myself, I dislike the company of fools."
"Well, if you're so sensible, you'll know you haven't an earthly chance with me," was Ada's pert comment.
Ignatius did his best to appear humble, but failed.
"I admit I'm not much to look at," he told her, "but I have quite an impressive car."
"I know. Lanchester." Ada's eyes sparkled. "Shall we go for a ride?"
"No. I want exercise. I'm afraid of getting fat...But, if you come for a walk, you shall have the use of the car tonight, without me. And you can choose your chauffeur."
Ada was impressed by the stranger's hint, but she hid her surprise so successfully, that Ignatius glanced at her with new respect.
"All right, then, it's a snip," she said, steering, from instinct, towards the shade of the Quakers' Walk.
They had not gone far under the chestnuts when she knew that this was not going to be the usual walk. Contrary to her experience the gentleman from London did not advise her to train for the Pictures. Instead, he talked to her of Paris and New York, which she knew more than he did, for she had seen them, in the pictorial Press.
Soon, however, she found that she was back at 'The Spout', although she could not remember how the return journey had been accomplished.
"Does Miss Asprey give you every Sunday afternoon?" asked Ignatius.
"I take it," replied Ada.
"Is Miss Mack also free?"
"No."
"But what work has she to do on a Sunday?"
"Her usual work. Nothing," replied Ada tartly.
"Lucky Miss Mack. Don't you envy her?"
"No, that I don't."
Ada's voice was so emphatic that Ignatius dared to question her further.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Ask her yourself," replied Ada.
As she was plainly on her guard, Ignatius tried another line of attack.
"Poor Miss Mack," he said. "I thought she looked such a pathetic soul. So plain. So hopeless."
"Don't you pity her," advised Ada. "She made her own bed when she put herself up. Now, she's neither flesh, fowl, or good red herring."
"Oh. So she's been promoted recently?"
"Yes. She used to do house-work, like us. But she smarmed Miss Asprey, so now she's a sekkertary. She sits, all day, with Miss Asprey, and hardly speaks to us."
"And how do you know that she smarmed to get the delightful job of being shut up continually with an old woman? Miss Asprey might have advanced her, on her merits."
"I never said I knew that," corrected Ada. "I said she smarms Miss Asprey. I've heard her, over food."
"What food?" asked Ignatius sharply.
"Things for supper. She wants the same as we get in the kitchen?"
"And she gets it?"
"Yes, after a bit. Miss Asprey's very kind."
Ignatius began to walk quicker, unconsciously tapping the trunks of each tree, with his stick.
"Is Miss Mack never free to go out?" he asked.
"She's too fat and lazy," explained Ada. "She used to have a bit of colour, but now she's gone white and waxy. I believe she eats starch."
"There may be another explanation," said Ignatius. "There seems to be rather a gulf between Miss Mack and yourself. Does she try to give you orders?"
"Yes, she tries it on, but we just laugh at her, to her face. You ought to hear her. 'I'm mistress here'."
Ada tossed her head so violently that her light crinoline hat was dislodged, so that the breeze blew it to the ground. She did not notice her loss, as she went on with her boast.
"If I was to give notice, Miss Asprey would have to train another housemaid. But if Miss Mack was to give notice, there'd be a hundred letters begging for her job."
"You've a retentive memory for what you overhear, Ada," said Ignatius. "Is Miss Asprey fond of Miss Mack?"
"She's a kind mistress, to us all," was the cautious reply.
"Does she scold?"
"No. She just says, 'You've had your warning. I shall not speak twice. Next time, you'll go'."
"Has she ever warned you, Ada?"
"Not she. She knows experienced housemaids are rare."
"And has she warned Miss Mack?"
"What would be the use?" Ada laughed. "She'd never get her to go. Put her out at the front door, and she'd come in, at the back, like a little dog. I heard Miss Asprey tell her to go, with my own ears. But she stayed on."
Ada tossed her bead again, and apparently missed something, for she gave a faint scream.
"I never. I've lost my hat."
"Here it is," said Ignatius, giving her the crinoline straw shape he was hiding behind his back. "You'll be losing your head next."
"Not me," boasted Ada. "It's screwed on too tight...Well, well, I'm always losing little things, but I've never lost my hat before."
In spite of her hint, Ignatius made another attempt to pump her.
"Things are very uneven," he said. "It's a shame a pretty girl like you has to do the work, while a lump like Miss Mack leads a lady's life. Wouldn't you like to change places with her?"
"Not me, thanks."
Ignatius had worked back to his original point, but this time Ada was forewarned and ready with her answer, before he put his inevitable question.
"Why?"
"Because I wouldn't change faces with her," was her official reason.
Then she looked at her watch and screamed.
"Time to turn. I've got the tea to get."
On the way back, Ignatius deserted 'The Spout' and began to talk generally about the village. Ada, who was now in her element, did not need prompting, as she reeled off spool after spool of local gossip. But, presently, both grew silent, as each reviewed the conversation. When they parted at the gate of 'The Spout', Ada was quick to notice that Ignatius made no reference to a future meeting.
'Trying to get me to miss-call the mistress, you poor sap,' she thought scornfully, as she walked up the drive. 'Well, my lord, you got nothing out of me but what I wanted you to know.'
But Ignatius—strolling across the green—also claimed a victory, on points.
'Shot her to bits, like a clay pigeon. Poor Ada...Bit of luck her hat blowing off. It gave me a pointer as to which way the wind might blow.'
Ignatius did not attend Evening Service, although he asked tenderly after the different members of the congregation, when he met the Rector, at supper.
"Mrs. Sheriff felt faint, and left before the sermon," the Rector told him.
"Oh, yes. Squire's wife. Sandy hair. Weighs about seven stone. Probably eats too much. This is an example of Pelmanism, Tigger, and not an attempt to emulate S.H."
At that moment, up at the Hall, Mrs. Sheriff