“No one knows anything,” said Jean at last. “It’s a terrible, terrible mystery,” and she pushed her plate away.
“Now you just go on eating, Bet. It’s real butter; no cheap margarine for me! Never would ’ave it in my ’ouse for all I’ve come down in the world, as the saying is. During the war plain honest dripping as I got off a chef I know: since then the best butter. You’ll find I live up to what I said, ‘a comfortable ’ome for a suitable person.’”
So Jean forced herself to eat a bit more of Mrs. Lightfoot’s excellent bread and butter.
“In a way ’tis a mystery,” went on her employer, “though in another way ’tis no mystery at hall! Young man marries old woman for ’er money. Gets fair sick of ’er. Meets a pretty young girl. Takes a fancy to ’er and does away with the old ’un. So far all c
