"You bad child, you!" exclaimed the butler, seizing her arm, and gone
almost out of his senses at the sight of the ruin of such ancient
treasures.
"I'm not bad," cried Rachel, turning on him and stamping her foot; "she's
bad--that woman there--for giving me what smells just like Gran!"
"I can't make her out," declared the butler, eyeing her as he released her
arm and stepped back toward his mistress.
"And that's what makes people drunk," went on Rachel, pointing an angry
finger at the wet spot where the liquid from the decanter was slowly oozing
into the velvet carpet.
The butler turned an outraged countenance, on which a dull red was
spreading, over to his mistress.
"You would better go out, Hooper," said Miss Parrott faintly, and holding
fast to the cabinet.
"I'm afraid to leave you, madam," said Hooper; "she ain't fit--that
creature"--pointing to Rachel, "to be here; she may fly at you. I'll put
her out at once."
"You may leave the apartment, Hooper," said Miss Parrott, regaining some of
her dignity by a mighty effort. "I'm not in the least afraid." But her
looks belied her words, or at any rate the old serving-man thought so, and
he made bold to remonstrate again.
"Let me put her out, madam," he begged. "I'll call the gardeners."
"Oh, no, no!" protested Miss Parrott, coming rapidly to her self-composure;
"that would never do in all the world.
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