"Noa. Her."

"The housekeeper?"

"Noa. The trap. Mebbe your eyes hain't so 'peart' as mine."

The grating of wheels called her attention to the fact that a smart,
yellow-wheeled dogcart had been driven into the station yard by a
man in livery.

"Be you Miss Keeves, miss?" asked the servant.

"Yes."

"Then you're for Melkbridge House. Please get in, miss."

Mavis clambered into the cart and was driven quickly from the
station. At the top of the hill, they turned sharp to the right, and
rolled along the Bathminster road. Mavis first noticed how much the
town had been added to since she had last set foot in it; then she
became conscious that distances, which in her childhood had seemed
to be considerable, were now trivial.

The man driving her had been a gentleman's servant; seeing that
Mavis belonged to a class of life which he had been accustomed to
serve, he treated her with becoming respect. Mavis incorrectly
argued from the man's deference that it had been decided to secure
her services: her heart leapt, her colour heightened at her good
fortune.