"We don't run to a butler," he said.

"Got everything you want?
Ring if you haven't.

We have supper at eight and we shan't dress.
Only--well, you couldn't look dowdy if you tried." Sylvia had not the slightest intention to try.

She put on a little frock of white lace, high at the throat, dressed her hair, and then having a little time to spare she hurriedly wrote a letter.

This letter she gave to the servant and she ran down-stairs.
"You will be careful to have it posted, please!" she said, and at that moment her father came out into the passage, so quickly that he might have been listening for her approach.
She stopped upon the staircase, a few steps above him.