I suggested
he should tell her himself, and he declared it was not the duty of the
host. I replied that it was the first time I'd ever heard it was the
duty of the hostess either.
We planned to make little speeches in her presence based on the subject
of her departure, and fraught with deep and subtle allusion, but she
ignored them. We inquired if her mother did not miss her after such a
prolonged absence, and she said they rather liked her to be away from
home for a few months in the year, as a change was always good. No
doubt it was good for her people, but it was bad for Henry and me.
Then one night Henry revolted. 'If she hasn't gone in another two
days,' he informed me, 'I'm going to get rooms at an hotel.'
He spoke as if he meant it, and I was mournfully wondering what I ought
to do to get Gladys to go, short of being downright rude, when
Elizabeth drifted into the problem.
'If Miss 'Arringay's goin' to stop much longer, I ain't,' she
announced. 'She makes too much extry work, an' the sight o' 'er about
the place fair riles me.'
I looked wearily at Elizabeth. 'No doubt Miss Harringay will be going
soon,' I said with an utter lack of conviction.
Elizabeth approached me, and bending down, said in a hoarse whisper,
'Wot is it--carn't you get rid of 'er?'
[Illustration: 'Carn't you get rid of 'er?']
I did not reply, feeling it distasteful to discuss my guest with a
domestic, though I could not refrain from discussing her with Henry.
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