Her father and mother were already at table, together with Mrs. Boyce's
brown spaniel Lynn.

Mr. Boyce was employed in ordering about the tall boy in a worn and
greasy livery coat, who represented the men-service of the
establishment; his wife was talking to her dog, but from the lift of her
eyebrows, and the twitching of her thin lips, it was plain to Marcella
that her mother was as usual of opinion that her father was behaving
foolishly.

"There, for goodness' sake, cut some bread on the sideboard," said the
angry master, "and hand it round instead of staring about you like a
stuck pig. What they taught you at Sir William Jute's I can't conceive.
_I_ didn't undertake to make a man-servant of you, sir."

The pale, harassed lad flew at the bread, cut it with a vast scattering
of crumbs, handed it clumsily round, and then took glad advantage of a
short supply of coffee to bolt from the room to order more.

"Idiot!" said Mr. Boyce, with an angry frown, as he disappeared.

"If you would allow Ann to do her proper parlour work again," said his
wife blandly, "you would, I think, be less annoyed. And as I believe
William was boot boy at the Jutes', it is not surprising that he did not
learn waiting."

"I tell you, Evelyn, that our position _demands_ a man-servant!" was the
hot reply. "None of my family have ever attempted to run this house with
women only. It would be unseemly--unfitting--incon--"