up outside my home. I helped Beryl to alight while the driver went ahead with our bags.
Beryl stood surveying the house for a time, then she looked at the busy main road, and sighed.
“We’re not going to stay here, Dick!” Her voice was so cold and decisive on this point it did not even leave me the chance to argue.
Mrs. Wilson, my cheery old housekeeper, was there at the door to welcome us; She directed the taxi driver to put the bags in the hall, then turned to us with a smile. Beryl, though, gave her one look and strode right past her to finish up in the middle of the hall looking about her. Mrs. Wilson looked after her with a curious, rather hurt gaze, then she turned back to me.
“Glad to see you back again, Mr. Shaw,” she said, in genuine pleasure. “What a terrible thing it was to happen to you and—and Mrs. Shaw! And just as you were going on your honeymoon, too!”
“We’re all right now,” I assured her. Then, bethinking myself I added rather dubiously, “At least I am. I’m afraid Beryl is still suffering from the after-effects.... I want you to meet her. Berry!” I called.
Lost in thought Beryl gave a noticeable start, then she came forward slowly.
“Berry, I want you to meet our housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson. She and her husband take care of everything—”
“He’s out shopping,” Mrs. Wilson added, her eyes fixed in a kind of bewilderment on Beryl’s face.
“You mean,” Beryl said, looking at me, “that this is one of our servants?”
“Well, not exactly that.” For I had seen Mrs. Wilson stiffen indignantly.
“In my bachelor days Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were pretty nearly father and mother to me.”
Beryl pondered this for a moment, then she looked at Mrs. Wilson steadily.
“My husband may have sentimental attachment towards you, Mrs. Wilson—and towards Mr. Wilson—but as far as I am concerned you are still a servant. You will oblige me by remembering it.... Now what about a meal? I am feeling very hungry.”
“I have it ready in the dining-room,” Mrs. Wilson replied curtly. “By the time you have both freshened up I will be ready to serve it.”
Off she went to the kitchen, positively bristling. I picked up the bags and led the way upstairs with Beryl following slowly behind me, looking about her at the same time. When she came into the bedroom I gave her a grim look.
“Beryl, your attitude’s intolerable!” I snapped. “If Mrs. Wilson and her husband stay on after this I’ll be surprised!”
She took off her hat and straightened her hair before the dressing-table mirror.
“I am not in the least concerned what they do. But I shall continue to treat that woman—and her husband when I see him—for what they are—servants!”
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