"All of them," she cried, "supporting you in your wickedness and
disobedience. I won't 'ave it nor endure it not a minute longer.
They can 'ave my notice this moment, and I won't take it back, not
if they ask me on their bended knees - no, I won't - and that's
straight."

For an instant she frowned upon them all - then she was gone, the
door banging after her.

They gazed at one another.

There was a dreadful silence. Once Mary whispered: "Suppose she
really does."

Hamlet only was unmoved.

Ten minutes later, Rose, the housemaid, entered with the tea-things.
For a little she was silent. Then the three faces raised to hers
compelled her confidence.

"Nurse has been and given notice," she said, "and the Missis has
taken it. She's going at the end of the month. She's crying now in
the kitchen."

They were alone again. Mary and Helen looked at Jeremy as though
waiting to follow his lead. He did not know what to say. There was
Tragedy, there was Victory, there was Remorse, there was Triumph. He
was sorry, he was glad. His eyes fell upon Hamlet, who was now
stretched out upon the rug, his nose between his paws, fast asleep.