“And if you was to give us a bad report what ’ud become of us?” said Saunders. “But we hopes you won’t say nothing more than you can prove, Miss ’Ill. And what are _you_?” he added, changing his tone, “but a servant yourself, and worse off than any of us--currying favor with bringing other folks into trouble, or tryin’ to bring folks into trouble; but you’ll not succeed this time, miss, I’ll promise you. We knows what to expect, and we’re on our guard. Hi, old man! what are you wanting? The bosses ain’t at home; can’t you see that with half an eye? Stop a bit, miss, I ain’t done with you yet.” “Oh, good Lord, Mr. Saunders!” cried the footman, in a tone of alarm. “Let me pass, please,” said Mary, trembling, and quite unaware what strong succours had arrived behind. The next sound was a firm foot upon the floor coming in--the next a voice which made Mary’s heart jump up to her throat. “Where is my brother, sir--where is your master? and how dare you speak to a lady like that?” said Lord Frogmore. Lord Frogmore! Saunders himself--whose countenance was a wonder to behold as he dropped the cue and backed against the table limp and helpless, his mouth open, his eyes bursting from their sockets with wonder and fright--was scarcely more discomposed than Mary, who felt herself in a moment vindicated, restored to her proper place, protected and avenged--yet at the same time more agitated and shaken than she had ever been in her life. She turned round and saw him before her, his eyes sparkling with anger, his neat small person towering, as it seemed, over the discomfited servants driven back by the first glance of him into servile humiliation. Lord Frogmore’s voice, which generally was a mild and rather small voice, thundered through the hall. “You disrespectful rascal! How dare you speak to a lady in that tone?” “My lord!” Saunders cried, faltering. At first he could not even think of a word to say for himself. The footman discreetly stole away. “My brother is absent, I suppose, and Mrs. Parke; and you cowardly scamp, you wretched snob, you take this opportunity----” “Oh, Lord Frogmore, don’t be severe upon the man. He thought I had written about him to his mistress. Please don’t say any more.” “I shall write about him to his mistress,” said Lord Frogmore, “or to his master, which will be more effectual. John Parke is no brother of mine if he does not turn such a fellow neck and crop out of the house. Get out of my sight, you brute, if you don’t want to be kicked out.” Saunders was twice Lord Frogmore’s size and half his age, but the old gentleman made him cower like a whipped dog. He made a faint effort to bluster. “I’m responsible to my own master, my lord: I’ll answer to him.”