“What’s that?”
“I understand your lordship is an Earl,” said poor Jim.
“Now who was the tactless idiot who told you that? I had intended to break the news myself. I suppose now, you know my—story?”
“Yes, si—my lord. I—I suppose ye won’t be requiring my services any longer?”
“In heaven’s name, why not? Do you wish to leave me?”
“Wish to———! No, sir—my lord—I—I thought ye’d maybe want a smarter valet—and—not me.”
My lord turned back to the mirror and withdrew the pin from his cravat.
“Don’t be a fool.”
This cryptic remark seemed greatly to reassure Jim.
“Ye mean it, sir?”
“Of course I do. I should be lost without you after all this time. Marry that nice girl at Fittering, and she shall maid my lady. For I’m to be married as soon as may be!”
“Ay, s—my lord! I’m sure I’m very glad, s—your lordship. Rose, sir? With the silver lacing?”
“I think so, Jim. And a cream—very pale cream waistcoat, broidered in with rose. There is one, I know.”
“Yes, sir—your lordship.”
My lord eyed him despondently.
“Er—Jim!”
“Yes—your lordship?”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot endure it.”
“I beg pardon, my lord?”
“I can’t have you call me ‘your lordship,’ after every second word—I really cannot.”
“Why, sir—may I still call you “sir’?”
“I would much rather you did.”
“Ay, sir—thank you.”
In the middle of tying the bow to his master’s wig. Jim paused, and in the mirror Jack saw his face fall.
