‘No, and I should think you’d better not. At least, I suppose you’d better not. Anyway, what you’ll have to do is marry John quickly and then you can keep him in order.’

‘Oh Miss, we couldn’t. Not yet. Not without any prospects.’

‘John won’t be a footman for ever.’

‘But if he applies for another position it would mean leaving here and neither of us would like that. I couldn’t imagine being away from the village. Besides, our Dad says I’m too young.’

‘You can twist your Dad round your little finger, you know you can, Ellen.’

‘I usually can get him to see sense, yes. John did think of applying for a job as valet to Mr Stephens. He thinks Mr Stephens is a very nice gentleman.’

‘I do too. Very nice. And yet in a funny way he’s so nice, and so good at everything, and so kind and clever and elegant and – I wonder if he’s quite real sometimes.’

‘I think Count Rakassyi is more your sort of gentleman, Miss. He’s more lively, if you know what I mean.’

‘You’re saying that to find out what I think of him, I know you, Ellen, you are a very cunning girl. Of course he’s more my sort of gentleman, that’s to say he’s irresponsible, flirtatious, gossipy and – well yes – rather romantic in a way. But he’s nearly thirty you know.’

‘Is he? I’d never have guessed it. He’s quite well preserved, if you know what I mean, isn’t he. Oh do you know, Miss, Hortense says Lady Hartlip has more than fifty combs for her hair? Tortoiseshell and diamonds, and all sorts of jewels. Don’t you think I might just run along and get her to lend us one? Lady Hartlip would never notice, I’m sure.’

‘No, Ellen certainly not, you do have the most outrageous ideas. I suppose Rogers will never leave, will he? I mean, so that John could be the butler?’

‘Mr Rogers won’t leave till he retires, I’m sure of that. Besides, I don’t know that John could take over even if he did. I don’t know if he’d have the authority with the other staff, them having known him as just a footman. It wouldn’t be easy.’

‘I’ll have to marry Count Rakassyi then and you and John will have to come to Hungary as valet and lady’s maid and we’ll gallop on fur-lined sledges across the great snow-covered Hungarian plain from one glittering palace to another.’

‘I’ve never really fancied snow, I don’t know why. Is it always snowy there?’

‘You’re very particular. When his father dies he’ll be a prince.’

‘I still won’t fancy the snow though, will I?’

‘It may not be snow. I don’t really know much about it. It may be days of endless sunshine and no sound but the wind gently stirring the stalks of the ripe golden corn.’

‘Do they have nice villages, with a church and everything – or are they Roman Catholics, do you suppose?’