Barlow and Yardsley (together).  Why, what’s the matter?

Yardsley.  I hope the house isn’t on fire?

Barlow.  Or that you haven’t been robbed?

Dorothy.  No, no; nothing like that.  It’s—­it’s about Jennie.

Yardsley (nervously).  Jennie?  Wha—­wha—­what’s the matter with
Jennie?

Dorothy.  I only wish I knew.  I—­

Yardsley (aside).  I’m glad you don’t.

Barlow.  What say?

Yardsley.  I didn’t say anything.  Why should I say anything?  I haven’t anything to say.  If people who had nothing to say would not insist upon talking, you’d be—­

Dorothy.  I heard the poor girl weeping down-stairs, and when I went to the dumbwaiter to ask her what was the matter, I heard—­I heard a man’s voice.

Yardsley.  Man’s voice?

Barlow.  Man’s voice is what Miss Andrews said.

Dorothy.  Yes; it was Hicks, our coachman, and he was dreadfully angry about something.

Yardsley (sinking into chair).  Good Lord!  Hicks!  Angry!  At—­ something!

Dorothy.  He was threatening to kill somebody.

Yardsley.  This grows worse and worse!  Threatening to kill somebody! 
D-did-did you o-over-overhear huh-huh-whom he was going to kuk-kill?

Barlow.  What’s the matter with you, Yardsley?  Are you going to die of fright, or have you suddenly caught a chill?

Dorothy.  Oh, I hope not!  Don’t die here, anyhow, Mr. Yardsley.  If you must die, please go home and die.  I couldn’t stand another shock to-day.  Why, really, I was nearly frightened to death.  I don’t know now but what I ought to send for the police, Hicks was so violent.

Barlow.  Perhaps she and Hicks have had a lovers’ quarrel.

Yardsley.  Very likely; very likely indeed.  I think that is no doubt the explanation of the whole trouble.  Lovers will quarrel.  They were engaged, you know.

Dorothy (surprised).  No, I didn’t know it.  Were they?  Who told you?

Yardsley (discovering his mistake).  Why—­er—­wasn’t it you said so, Miss Dorothy?  Or you, Barlow?

Barlow.  I have not the honor of the young woman’s confidence, and so could not have given you the information.

Dorothy.  I didn’t know it, so how could I have told you?

Yardsley (desperately).  Then I must have dreamed it.  I do have the queerest dreams sometimes, but there’s nothing strange about this one, anyhow.  Parlor-maids frequently do—­er—­become engaged to coachmen and butlers and that sort of thing.  It isn’t a rare occurrence at all.  If I’d said she was engaged to Billie Wilkins, or to—­to Barlow here—­

Barlow.  Or to yourself.

Yardsley.  Sir?  What do you mean to insinuate?  That I am engaged to
Jennie?

Barlow.  I never said so.

Dorothy.  Oh dear, let us have the tea.  You quarrelsome men are just wearing me out.  Mr. Barlow, do you want cream in yours?