“She’s all right,” said Doris. “Just the same. Bob kicked his football through the window the other day, and she kept us prisoners in the schoolroom two days, and we wouldn’t have been let go to the meet this morning only for Mr Fanshawe.” “Who is Mr Fanshawe?” asked Miss Lestrange, with a sudden interest in her voice. “Jolliest chap you ever met,” cut in Lord Gawdor; “isn’t he, Doris?” “Rather!” replied Doris. “And he gave Patsy half a crown,” went on Lord Gawdor—“this is Patsy driving—He’s off hunting this morning. My! can’t he ride? And hasn’t he some fine horses?” “What is he like?” asked Miss Lestrange. “I dunno,” replied Lord Gawdor. “He’s awfully good-looking,” said Doris. “He’s a rale gintleman,” said Patsy. “Beg your pardon, miss, for speakin’.” “Not at all,” said Miss Lestrange, smiling sweetly on Patsy. On getting into the “tub” she had looked tired from her journey and bored, but she was now full of spirits and animation. “So your name is Patsy, is it?” “Patsy Rooney, miss,” replied that individual, as he turned the “tub” in at the gates. “I’m the page-boy, and clanes the knives and the boots, but I’m looking afther Mr Fanshawe now, for his man sprained his fut and had to be left behind: and it’s only this marnin’ Mr Fanshawe says to me, ‘Patsy, you’re a jewel at cleanin’ boots and brushing clothes, and if you continy in the grace of God,’ he says, ‘it’s a valley I’ll make of you before you’re much older,’ and, bedad,” finished Patsy, hitting the pony a “skelp” with the whip, “I’d sooner sarve him for tuppence a week than any other gintleman in the country for a pound.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIV A KISS ON THE STAIRS Mr Boxall was standing in his bedroom preparatory to dressing for dinner. Mr Boxall, though a Member of Parliament, and very rich, went in omnibuses to save cab fares, and his tips to servants were a disgrace to the giver and receiver. He also had a nasty and dictatorial way with him which made him disliked. Mr Boxall having looked around him for something he failed to find, rang the bell. The bell not being answered immediately, he opened the door and looked out on the corridor, where Patsy was passing along with a huge can of hot water. “Hi, you, boy!” cried Mr Boxall. “Yes, sir?” replied Patsy. “What do you mean by not attending to my bell?” “Attending to your which, sir?” “My bell—are you deaf?” “I didn’t know you’d brought one wid you, sir,” replied Patsy, with an air of injured innocence. “I was afther fetchin’ this water for Mr Fanshawe. Did yiz ring it in your room or in the passidge?” “Good heavens!” cried Mr Boxall, “does the boy think I carry a bell about with me like a muffin man? My bedroom bell, you oaf!”