The captain pulled himself together.

"You can finish what you're doing," he said, mildly, "and then--"

"Yes, I know what to do," interrupted Miss Vickers. "You leave it to me.
Go in and sit down and make yourself comfortable. You ought not to be in
the kitchen at all by rights. Not that I mind what people say--I should
have enough to do if I did--but still--"

The captain fled in disorder and at first had serious thoughts of wiring
for Miss Drewitt, who was spending a few days with friends in town.
Thinking better of this, he walked down to a servants' registry office,
and, after being shut up for a quarter of an hour in a small room with a
middle-aged lady of Irish extraction, who was sent in to be catechized,
resolved to let matters remain as they were.

Miss Vickers swept and dusted, cooked and scrubbed, undisturbed, and so
peaceable was his demeanour when he returned from a walk one morning, and
found the front room being "turned out," that she departed from her usual
custom and explained the necessities of the case at some length.

"I dare say it'll be the better for it," said the captain.

"O' course it will," retorted Selina. "You don't think I'd do it for
pleasure, do you? I thought you'd sit out in the garden, and of course
it must come on to rain."

The captain said it didn't matter.