‘Then why don’t they show themselves your friends’ said my master, ’and oblige me with the loan of the money I condescended, by your advice, my dear, to ask?  It’s now three posts since I sent off my letter, desiring in the postscript a speedy answer by the return of the post, and no account at all from them yet.’

‘I expect they’ll write to me next post,’ says my lady, and that was all that passed then; but it was easy from this to guess there was a coolness betwixt them, and with good cause.

The next morning, being post-day, I sent off the gossoon early to the post-office, to see was there any letter likely to set matters to rights, and he brought back one with the proper postmark upon it, sure enough, and I had no time to examine or make any conjecture more about it, for into the servants’ hall pops Mrs. Jane with a blue bandbox in her hand, quite entirely mad.

‘Dear ma’am, and what’s the matter?’ says I.

‘Matter enough,’ says she; ’don’t you see my bandbox is wet through, and my best bonnet here spoiled, besides my lady’s, and all by the rain coming in through that gallery window that you might have got mended if you’d had any sense, Thady, all the time we were in town in the winter?’

‘Sure, I could not get the glazier, ma’am,’ says I.

‘You might have stopped it up anyhow,’ says she.

’So I, did, ma’am, to the best of my ability; one of the panes with the old pillow-case, and the other with a piece of the old stage green curtain.  Sure I was as careful as possible all the time you were away, and not a drop of rain came in at that window of all the windows in the house, all winter, ma’am, when under my care; and now the family’s come home, and it’s summer-time, I never thought no more about it, to be sure; but dear, it’s a pity to think of your bonnet, ma’am.  But here’s what will please you, ma’am—­a letter from Mount Juliet’s Town for my lady.

With that she snatches it from me without a word more, and runs up the back stairs to my mistress; I follows with a slate to make up the window.  This window was in the long passage, or gallery, as my lady gave out orders to have it called, in the gallery leading to my master’s bedchamber and hers.  And when I went up with the slate, the door having no lock, and the bolt spoilt, was ajar after Mrs. Jane, and, as I was busy with the window, I heard all that was saying within.

‘Well, what’s in your letter, Bella, my dear?’ says he:  ’you’re a long time spelling it over.’

‘Won’t you shave this morning, Sir Condy?’ says she, and put the letter into her pocket.

‘I shaved the day before yesterday,’ said he, ’my dear, and that’s not what I’m thinking of now; but anything to oblige you, and to have peace and quietness, my dear’—­and presently I had a glimpse of him at the cracked glass over the chimney-piece, standing up shaving himself to please my lady.  But she took no notice, but went on reading her book, and Mrs. Jane doing her hair behind.