wn-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?

Barlow. If you please; and one lump of sugar. (Dorothy pours is
out.) Thanks.

Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley?

Yardsley. Just a little, Miss Andrews. No cream, and no sugar.

[Dorothy prepares a cup for Yardsley. He is about to take it when--

Dorothy. Well, I declare! It's nothing but hot water! I forgot the
tea