"Isn't going to marry him," I answered.
"Why not?" he demanded.
"Better ask her," I suggested.
I didn't know at the time that it was a silly thing to say, and I am not sure that I should not have said it if I had. When he is in one of his moods I always seem to get into one of mine. I have looked after Mr. John ever since he was a baby, so that we do not either of us treat the other quite as perhaps we ought to.
"Tell cook I want her," he said.
"She is just in the middle———" I began.
"I don't care where she is," he said. He seemed determined never to let me finish a sentence. "Send her up here."
She was in the kitchen by herself.
"He wants to see you at once," I said.
"Who does?" she asked.
"Mr. John," I said.
"What's he want to see me for?" she asked.
"How do I know?" I answered.
"But you do," she said. She always had an obstinate twist in her, and, feeling it would save time, I told her what had happened.
"Well," I said, "aren't you going?"
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