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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title: Below Stairs, an electronic edition
Author: Sidgwick, Alfred, Mrs., d.1934
Publisher: Methuen & Co., Ltd.
Place published: London
Date: 1913
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BELOW STAIRSBY MRS ALFRED SIDGWICKMETHUEN & CO. LTD.36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDONPage containing copyright information for Mrs. Sidgwick's
Below Stairs.BELOW STAIRS BOOK ICHAPTER IHER name was Priscilla Day, and she was one of ten; but her mother had buried five. Of the five remaining, two brothers were in South Africa and never wrote home or sent any help home. It was not even known whether they were doing well, and it was only surmised that they were still alive because no one had written to say they were dead. The two elder sisters, Lily and Gertie, were both in service; because Mrs Day had said from the beginning that her girls should go into service and not into factories. When they were out of place, or in a place and dissatisfied, they threw this up at her, but she did not on that account dream of any other career for Priscilla."You got to earn your livin', and you'll do it in a gentleman's house same as I did," she said.Sam Day, her husband, had no say in the matter. He had very little say in him by the time his elder children were out in the world and Priscilla, who had been an afterthought, was twelve. The poor man had pinched and starved and saved for years until he had enough to start a small general shop on the outskirts of Daneswick, a growing country town. In vain did his wife tell him he would lose his money. He knew
his own mind, he said he knew his own business and he would thank the woman not to interfere with what she did not understand. So he had his way and in two years lost every penny he had put by. He knew nothing of trade; he did not understand how to buy or how to sell, or how to make people pay up for what they had. All through the prime of his life he had been steward on a small estate that, when the owner died, was sold for building lots. The new owner said there was too much risk about your native soil in these days and put every penny his share of it fetched into sound foreign securities. So the big house became an hotel and the park was dotted with villas and bungalows. The neighbourhood became known as a summer resort, and on the whole the changes in it brought business and the turnover of money to Daneswick. But Priscilla's father missed his chance. He set up in a shop at the wrong end of the town and from the beginning custom failed him. As things went from bad to worse he grew morose and ill to live with, so that his children were glad to leave home and his wife often wished she could go with them. When the crash came, and they had to shut up shop, Priscilla was twelve years old and was getting on well at school. She was a pretty child with wide grey eyes and a clear skin. She had never known what it was to have quite enough to eat or a home in which there was any spirit of success or cheerfulness, and when she wanted some new thing to wear, some frock or coat that would make her the equal of her chosen companions, she was always told that she could not have it because her father was a poor man."Why is father poor?" she had asked one day, but her mother had only put her off with that exasperating
nursery saw about asking no questions and having no stories told."I don't want any stories told," said Priscilla. "There must be a reason why some people are rich and others poor, and I'd like to know what it is. I hope I sha'n't be poor always.""You probably will," said Mrs Day."Why?""People mostly stay where they are born. It isn't one in a thousand who has the luck and the brains to climb out of it.""I have brains," announced Priscilla."Who tells you so? Can't say I've noticed it," said her mother."I'm one of the cleverest girls in school."Mrs Day, who was ironing, put down her iron for a moment and looked at her offspring."I do wonder what you'll have the impidence to say next," she asked, but her indignation was only feigned. She knew well enough that Priscilla was the prettiest and the cleverest of her children, and at one time when her husband set up shop she had determined that if the shop prospered, Priscilla should not go into service, but be trained for something more genteel. She herself had been a nursery-maid and then a head nurse in a great house, and she had brought up her own children carefully, teaching them to behave well at table and to have polite manners both to strangers and at home. So Priscilla was by way of being a show child at school and would perhaps have had her head turned if her vanity had not been kept in check by her shabby clothes. She had just told her mother that she wanted a new white frock for the school treat, and had been told promptly and surely that she would not get it."Then I'll have to wear that old rag you're ironing," pouted Priscilla."Either that or stay at home," said Mrs Day. "They'd manage without you at a pinch, I dessay.""Can't I have a new hat either?""No; you can't. One o' these days you'll ask for your dinner and not get it by all I can see. Then you'll have something to grouse about. I don't know what's going to become of us."As a rule Mrs Day did not talk to Priscilla of their difficulties. The child was too young to understand, and too young to bear the burden. But the wolf was actually not very far from the door. The shop was shut, the stock cleared away, the household furniture reduced to bare necessaries. On Saturday they were to move into the hovel at Tinker's Green that Mrs Day had taken on her own responsibility. "We must have a roof to our heads," she said to her husband, when he asked her where she would find eighteenpence a week for the rent. He had not found a job yet, and they did not know whether he would find one before the slender credit they could get was exhausted. Priscilla knew, as well as a child of twelve can, that things at home were in a bad way. Ruin had seized them, and the day after to-morrow they were going to leave their comfortable home over the little shop and take refuge in that wretched cottage on Tinker's Green. They would be jammed close to the Spillers, a family half gipsy in its ways and wanderings, a family that went hopping when the time came, locking up the cottage and carrying with them a few pots and pans. Polly Spiller, the eldest girl, went to the Daneswick school, but Priscilla had never associated with her. She was rough, ragged and unwashed, and
backward for her age. The idea of living close to her, of descending to her low social level, and possibly of finding that she was trapped into walking to school and back beside her, troubled Priscilla more than any fears for future dinners."Couldn't we have found a cottage in Daneswick?" she asked her mother."Not for eighteenpence a week.""There are some nice little clean new houses near St Mary's Church.""Seven shillings a week. I asked. They've got bathrooms.""I'd like a bathroom.""P'rhaps you'd like a motor car too. May as well want one as the other while you're about it."Mrs Day was a tall, deep-bosomed woman, generous by nature and good-humoured. She should have lived in comfort and reared a large brood of healthy children; but her married life had been one long struggle with illness and adversity, and her children were not robust because she was underfed and overworked while she bore them. Those who survived, suffered as she did from the poverty in which they lived, for Sam Day had saved the money he put into his shop at the expense of his family and only by dint of a thrift that was sacrificial. Now that four of the five children were grown up and out in the world, life should have come a little easier to their parents; but it seemed instead that the shadows were gathering and that their old age would bring hardships they had not known."We must live from hand to mouth. That's all," said Sam Day, and
his wife wondered how they were going to live at all unless he soon
got a job.Tinker's Green was about a mile from Daneswick, and when cars and carriages passed by it, they often stopped to look at the old bridge beneath which a sleepy rivulet meandered and the clustered cottages that, with the common, composed such a charming bit of English landscape. The place looked like a haven where the world and its troubles might be well and easily lost. But Priscilla, though she was only twelve, knew better, and the thought of living there humiliated her. The clustered cottages were inconvenient and insanitary. What is the use of having a rose throwing lovely sprays over the face of your house if the roof leaks and the floors are rotten? The respectable wage-earning men of the neighbourhood would not live on Tinker's Green, and the cottages there were taken by such people as the Spillers, or by old helpless folk living where they could. They belonged to a money-grabbing shopkeeper in Daneswick, who battened on other men's financial follies and misfortunes. Priscilla knew nothing of this, but she knew she did not want to live there. However, there was no help for it, and this afternoon, when she had had her tea, she told her mother that she would like to go and see the cottage. Mrs Day, who was still busy ironing, made no objection, so Priscilla set out by herself. Tinker's Green was only a quarter of an hour's walk from their unprosperous end of Daneswick, and as she ran most of the way she soon got there. The sun was shining, the rose rioted over the front of the cottage, and for a moment Priscilla saw her future home in rose colours. She opened the gate of the little neglected garden with a proprietary air and looked about her. The neighbouring garden, just as neglected and much untidier, seemed to be full of
Spillers. The fence between was so much out of repair that in some places it failed entirely, and even as Priscilla stood there, Spiller babies crawled beyond their boundary and began to claw at the moon daisies growing amongst the weeds on her side. Just behind them stood Polly Spiller nursing the youngest baby, then just a month old."Ullo, Prissy Day," she called out genially. But Priscilla did not like being called Prissy and she did not feel genial. She knew that her mother said she would have nothing to do with the Spillers when she came here and that her father said it was no use to give yourself airs when you hadn't a penny to bless yourself with. Priscilla was always on her mother's side in such altercations. She gave herself airs, or, as her father phrased it, "put on parts," and she did not mean to carry herself less proudly because her father had been unfortunate in business. So she just nodded civilly at Polly and went on towards the cottage. But this did not suit Polly at all. She wanted a gossip. Besides, she was the kind of genial person who easily turns quarrelsome, and she suspected Priscilla of wishing to avoid her. This drew her like a magnet, and, going close to the fence, she spoke again."Comin' to live 'ere, ain't yer?" she inquired."Yes," said Priscilla, holding her head a little higher than usual because she felt ashamed to say so."Bit of a come-down?""We shall have to mend the fence," said Priscilla, looking at the two dirty, unkempt children close to her feet."My dad's been sayin' we shall 'ave to move," said Polly, giving the child in her arms a little shake."What for?""Neighbours. We don't like the idear at all. We 'ave 'ad the place to ourselves ever since Mr 'Iggins went to gaol. That was two years ago, and 'e'll be out direckly. We did 'ope 'e'd come back 'ere. 'E was unfortnit, but 'e wasn't stuck-up. I 'ates stuckup people, speshully when they're no more than I am, reelly."While Polly gabbled, Priscilla stooped to detach her skirt from the grimy hands of a boy baby trying to totter to his feet with its help. But she heard and remembered that their predecessor in the cottage had been that disreputable and notorious Tim Higgins, who had been sent to prison for half murdering a policeman who disturbed him in a burglary. She remembered the case and the sensation it made, but she had not known that he had lived at Tinker's Green in this very cottage. To succeed him added fear and ignominy to the thought of coming here. She shook herself free from the child at her skirts and went on, but as she did so the child lost its balance, fell against the fence and set up a howl. This brought out Mrs Spiller, a big tousled virago who had once been as coarsely handsome as Polly would be in a few years' time."I see yer throw the pore child down," she yelled at Priscilla. "I'll teach yer."She clambered through the gap in the fence, picked up the child, gave it two or three resounding smacks, set it roughly on its feet again and marched up to Priscilla, who fled into the cottage and tried to shut the door against the enemy. But she was neither quick enough nor strong enough, and Mrs Spiller made an entry that nearly threw the little girl down by its violence. She then made a snatch at Priscilla's arm

and was just going to shake her when a young man at work inside the cottage got up from the floor and interfered. He was only a lad of eighteen and not very tall, but he was squarely made and he had bright brown eyes like a robin. Both Mrs Spiller and Priscilla knew that he was Harry Masters, the son of a small Daneswick builder, and that he was working in his father's shop."She threw poor little 'Enery down," began Mrs Spiller, and as she had not released Priscilla's arm yet, she shook her violently."No; she didn't," said Harry Masters. "The child threw itself down. I was at the window and saw them."Priscilla, who had never been shaken in her life, began to cry."Much you know about children," began Mrs Spiller, quite ready to take on a fresh antagonist; but Harry dealt with her according to his lights, not gently perhaps, but promptly. He jerked Priscilla's arm from her relaxing grasp, edged her from the threshold, shut the door in her face and locked it."That's all right," he said to Priscilla, while Mrs Spiller, after one or two parting compliments, went back to her own business.But it was very far from all right with poor Priscilla. She had actually been shaken in the presence of this young man, and by Polly Spiller's mother, a person whose appearance and manners made her touch an outrage. First she had been shaken and now she was crying and both events were mortifying to a big girl of twelve who felt almost, but not quite, grown up."Don't cry," said Harry. "I'll see you safe across the common in a
minute.""I'm not crying," said Priscilla, rubbing her eyes, and holding her breath."My mistake," said Harry, and began to whistle while he knelt down on the floor again and went on with his job. But though he went on, his bright eyes stole now and then to the pretty, wide-eyed child who stood there refusing to be comforted, while she watched him and wondered how he came here and what he was, doing. She supposed he was mending the floor."We're coming to live here on Saturday," she said, as soon as she could speak without sobbing."I know," said Harry; "I'm mending the floor for you.""Thank you," said Priscilla."By Mr Sturge's orders," explained the young man."What's it like upstairs?""About what you'd expect."Priscilla looked at the steep rotten old staircase leading straight from this one living-room to the other floor and, with a foreboding of worse to come, pushed her way up. When she got to the top she saw a place that looked to her more like a loft than a room. It was dark because the window was small and dirty; it had a close, fusty smell, and in one corner she saw a puddle of water on the floor and a glimpse of the sky through a hole in the roof. She hastily went downstairs again."Well?" said Harry."There's a big hole in the roof.""That will be mended to-morrow.""And the stairs are rotten.""Are they?"He got up and looked at the stairs, although he had,
seen them and knew well enough that they were out of repair."They do want a bit doing to them," he said."If these cottages belonged to me I'd pull 'em down," said Priscilla. "I wouldn't ask pigs to live in 'em--or Spillers.""You're right," said Harry. Then he collected his tools, shouldered his tool-basket and went to the door. Priscilla followed him, and they walked together across Tinker's Green to the outskirts of Daneswick. The Spillers had vanished for the moment from the garden."That's a pretty child of Day's," he said to his mother, when he got home and sat down to tea. "She was over at the cottage this afternoon. Pity she should have to live in such a hole, and next door to such a lot as the Spillers.""I'm sorry for Mrs Day," said Mrs Masters. "She's brought up her
children well and worked like a donkey all her life. But her husband's
a fool, and when the man's a fool the woman has to suffer."CHAPTER IIWHEN the Days went to Tinker's Green on Saturday the was neatly mended."I told him it ought to be done," said Priscilla."Who you talking about?" said her father."Harry Masters.""When little girls talk of older people they call them Mr or Mrs or Miss as the case may be," said Mrs Day, in her severe, nursery voice. "You fill the kettle for tea, Priscilla, and don't tell any of your tales here. As if young Mr Masters would take his orders from you!""He had no orders, and I told him the stairs were rotten," began Priscilla indignantly, but her mother put the kettle into her hand and gave her a little push towards the door."Where is the water?" said Priscilla, who felt badly treated."Look till you find it," commanded her mother. The poor woman was harassed, tired and discouraged. Even when your worldly goods are valuable, they look their worst when they are being moved from one house to another, and the few odds and ends of furniture left to the Days looked as dejected as their fortunes. They had been piled up on an uncovered cart, a heavy shower had soaked them, and Mrs Day had just said that it would be safer to sleep on the floor
than on wet bedding. The man who drove the cart had helped Mr Day carry their bedsteads and their one chest of drawers upstairs, and did not hide his poor opinion of their new quarters."A dog kennel'd be drier," he flung at Mrs Day the first time he came down."My boots'll want changin' after this," he said next time. "The landlord ought to be 'anged, 'ooever 'e is, and that's my last word."But it wasn't his last word, for he came by again in a moment and said to Mrs Day:"I wonder 'e can look you in the face.""I wonder you can," exclaimed Mrs Day. "That bed's been in the mud.""I just dropped one corner," admitted the man. "You see, never 'avin' 'ad enough to eat, I'm not as strong as I might be. I'm badly nourished, I am. I've read about it. It's the red copsules as aren't plentiful.""I shouldn't have guessed it," said Mrs Day, looking rather pointedly at the man who like Bardolph blushed extempore. "Leave that bed here please, and I'll dry the mud at the fire and then brush it off."The man put the big old-fashioned feather bed down on the flagged floor of the cottage and looked lugubriously at the damp that rose on the flags in wet weather."And 'e livin' in 'is marble 'alls," he said."Who you talking about?" said Mr Day morosely."Squire Norman--one o' these 'ere idle rich we want to be rid of--squeezin' the money out of us poor workin' men.""You'd suit me better if you worked more and talked less," said Mrs Day impatiently. "Squire

Norman! Think he'd own a sty like this? It belongs to Sturge the fishmonger.""And he's no more class than you are yourself," said Mr Day, "only he happens to have brains. You haven't enough to drive a cart straight. I see that comin' along. Here's your half-crown and sixpence extra for helpin' me up with the things.""And droppin' my feather bed in the mud," added Mrs Day.The carter took his money and was still trying to think of a reply when Priscilla came back with the kettle and announced that the pump supplying the cottages was a long way off, and that if she had to fetch the water, she hoped the family would be sparing with it."That's what they do," said the carter--"put the water where we can't get it and then call us the unwashed. But there's a day coming--"Mrs Day, going forward to take the kettle from Priscilla, looked as if she might go a little farther still and push him towards the door. So he went while there was yet time, but left the door wide open behind him. The Days could hear him grumble something about marble 'alls as he slouched through the little garden."That's the sort that's bringin' the country to ruin," said Mrs Day. "It's not the Squire Normans. It's these spoutin' gasbags. Dropping my bed in the mud because he couldn't trouble to catch on tight! All he's good for is an orange-box and a street come with bigger fools than himself takin' it all in.""What is a marble hall? I've never seen one. Have you, mother?" asked Priscilla."Yes," said Mrs Day. "There was one at the castle, but no one lived in it. It was a chilly place
full of statues. You passed through it when you went to the picture gallery.""I hope we sha'n't live here long," said Priscilla. "It's horrid--""You ought to be thankful you've anywhere to live," said her mother; "many children haven't and then they're clapped into Homes.""There must be a lot of other children to play with in a Home," said Priscilla perversely, and then they sat down to tea. The downstairs room looked comfortable already, for Mrs Day was one of those women who can make a cave comfortable if they have to live in one: she had managed to keep an old dresser, two tables, a small carpet and some chairs. The room had cupboards, and she had cleaned the range and laid the fire ready the day before. But she could not add to the slender sum of money with which they started life here, and as it was uncertain where and when her husband could find work, she did not dare to spend any part of it on repairs the landlord had left undone. After tea she went into the garden to look at the gap in the fence Priscilla had described, and before she had stood there long Mrs Spiller came into the garden and found her examining it."You could mend this with some old boards," Mrs Day said to her husband, who was standing in the doorway."Good-evening," said Mrs Spiller, coming close to the gap. "'Ope you like the cottage now you're in it.""Thank you," said Mrs Day; "I daresay it will suit us very well.""Mr 'Iggins kep' it beautiful inside and out. The flowers 'e 'ad! You'd never berleeve! 'E planted that there rose."Mrs Spiller by this time was so near the gap that step farther would have taken her into the garden. She was evidently in a chatty mood, and, as Mrs Day guessed, her advances had their roots in curiosity rather than in kindness."Will your good 'usband 'ave far to walk every day?" she asked."Rather far," said Mrs Day, whose good husband had not found a job yet, either near or far away."Mine works casual. 'E prefers it. 'E likes bein' 'is own master, 'e says."Mrs Day kept her lips from uttering what her thoughts replied: that no one would give Dan Spiller regular work because he was lazy, incapable, drunken and when he had the chance, dishonest."Our girls are much the same age, I s'pose," continued the irrepressible Mrs Spiller, whose torn apron, blousy hair and general look of slop-over and temper appalled the dignified and tidy Mrs Day. "My Poll and your Prissy, I mean.""Priscilla is twelve," said Mrs Day."Mary Maud Eliza is thirteen," said Mrs Spiller, suddenly planting her fat red hands on her hips, mimicking Mrs Day's voice and looking like thunder."That's our fence," she went on, and she put one foot across the gap; "I dare you to meddle with it. My 'usband put it up when we come 'ere because in a general way we like to keep ourselves to ourselves. When Mr 'Iggins and us became such friends 'e made that 'ole one night comin' 'ome in an 'urry. But 'e was a gentleman.""As a rule," said Mrs Day, "a fence belongs to both parties, and either party has a right to repair it." Instead of answering Mrs Spiller turned her head
towards her own house and in a loud, screaming voice called out: "Dan! Come 'ere, I want you!"Dan Spiller, a blear-eyed, shiftless-looking ruffian, slouched through the open door into the little garden."'Oo's interferin' with you?" he began truculently."Tell this lydy 'oo put up the fence.""I did o' course," said Dan, his sly, narrow eyes looking past Mrs Day at the horizon."She wants to mend the 'ole as Mr 'Iggins made for 'is convenience. Like their cheek.""It's our 'ole," said Mr Spiller. "You only begin the other side o' the fence."By this time the audience had increased. Sam Day and Priscilla stood at the open door of their cottage, while Polly Spiller, with a tail of smaller Spillers, had appeared amongst the weeds and broken bottles in their own domain."If that is true--" began Mrs Day. She used the phrase as a formula and not with any insulting intention; but the Spillers took it hardly. Mrs Spiller asked of the world in general if she was being called a liar, her husband observed that anyone who touched his fence would have him to deal with, and looking directly at Mr Day he began to roll up his sleeves. Polly put out her tongue at Priscilla and, being caught by her mother, received a box on the ears that caused her to stumble, baby in arms, over the last baby but one. All the children set up a howl, their parents grew hoarse in their efforts to quieten them and at the same time give the Days what they called a piece of their "minds!" The hullabaloo could be heard right across the green, where quieter folk said to each other that those Spillers were a disgrace to the parish and ought to be turned out of it.
The Days went hastily indoors and turned the key; and Mrs Day, going upstairs to put the bedroom straight, remembered happier things and felt sorrowful. So the first day at Tinker's Green came to an end. The moon rose clear and high, the stars peeped in at the little attic windows, and when Priscilla went to bed she could see a big bright one that winked at her in comforting way till she went to sleep. "Even through an attic window you can see a star," she said to herself and so put into words a philosophy that was to help her valiantly through life.The question of the fence was eventually settled by Sam Day himself, who soon got his garden into good order and said he would not have Spiller babies digging in it as if it was the bloomin' seaside. He put up a fence of his own, higher and stronger than the one through which Mr 'Iggins had made his exits and his entrances after poaching expeditions. This barrier was a mortal affront to the Spillers; but so were many other things the Days did in self-protection. For instance Mrs Day made Priscilla take a roundabout way to school in order that she should not walk to and fro with Polly. Mrs Day was quite right. Priscilla had nice manners and a child's mind, while Polly from babyhood had lived in the gutter. In school she acted like a poison spreading evil and giving trouble; but in school Priscilla hardly came into contact with her. Polly was the older, but she remained in a lower class, for she was slow at her books and extremely idle. On the whole Mrs Day managed to live next door to the Spillers without open scenes and quarrels, although they sought these at every opportunity; but the hardships of her life were increased by being close to such disagreeable neighbours, and she often wishedthat she had never taken the cottage. They stayed on in it because moving costs money, and because they could get nothing better for eighteenpence a week; and often found it difficult to make that. Mrs Day kept the home up as well as she could; but how can you keep a home up when your husband is out of work? He was sober, honest and steady, yet no one had a permanent job for a man of fifty who had little education, no manual skill and feeble muscles. One day when Priscilla was coming home from school she met Harry Masters and he stopped to speak to her."How you gettin' on?" he asked."All right," said Priscilla, and then bethought herself of what she
had often wanted to say to him."Thank you for mendin' our stairs," she ventured."You're welcome," said Harry. "Like the place better than you expected?"He knew that the Days were down on their luck, and that Priscilla's father at the present time was out of work, because his father had tried to get him a job and failed. He knew that money must be scarce with them, and food too, for his mother had said so only that morning, and he looked at Priscilla now as if he would like to ask her if she was hungry. She was pale and thin, but her eyes were beautiful and so was her dark curly hair under the scarlet cap she wore. They were close to a baker's shop and he had a brilliant idea."Like buns?" he asked her."Yes," said Priscilla rather doubtfully. She liked buns very much and she was famished, because there had been nothing for dinner but a small slice of bread and treacle. It was three hours since she had eaten it, and she could not expect anything more to eat till half-past six, her father's tea-time."Come along then," said Harry, and he went into the shop, bought a bag of buns and gave them to Priscilla. She coloured as she took them, liking neither to accept nor to refuse. She felt sure her mother would disapprove."I'll only have one--thank you," she said."You'll have them all," said Harry. "So long. Tell your mother I'm coming to the cottage one of these days to see if I've done those stairs to her satisfaction.""What call has he to give you buns?" said Mrs Day suspiciously, when Priscilla arrived home with all but two which she had eaten by the way.It was a question Priscilla could not answer; but she had enjoyed her walk home across the common, and she liked Harry Masters. The encounter with him sent her thoughts wandering to her own brothers just as old as Harry, but of no use or pleasure to a younger sister who often went hungry and wanted buns, but could not get them."Why don't Tom and Albert live at home?" she asked her mother."They thought they'd get on better in South Africa," said Mrs Day."Are they gettin' on well?""You know as much as I do. They never write.""Why don't they?""You ask too many questions. Get on with your darning. I had a letter from Lily this morning. She's changin' again. Always changin', that girl is, and never satisfied. I'm going to tell her she can't come home unless she pays for her keep. I've a hard job to keep ourselves with the little your father can earn nowadays.""I wish I could earn some money," said Priscilla. From where she sat, close to the window, she could see the tea-table, and on it, oh, wonder! a heaped-up plate of fresh, delicious, sugary Bath buns. At that moment they were an emblem of money to her and the delightful things money can buy."The moment you've done with school you'll begin," said Mrs Day. "I'll get you something close by, if I can. You aren't old enough yet to go far from home.""Polly Spiller's got a place in London. She's goin' to it next week. She told me so to-day.""Where did you see her to speak to? She's left school, hasn't she?""Yes. She was shoppin' in Daneswick, buyin' herself shoes and frocks and aprons, she said. She's goin' to have six pounds a year and all found--and her fare paid."How did she get it?""Advertisement."Mrs Day, who had been getting the tea ready, now made the tea, not as she used to, liberally, but with the mean pinch of tea she could afford. There was a scrap of bacon and a hunch of bread for her husband and for Priscilla and herself the unwonted luxury of the buns."Advertisements ain't always what they seem," she said. Then her husband came in from the garden and sat down to tea and, until his attention was called to them, actually never noticed the buns. When he did and was told how they came there, he began to talk of John Masters, who had started life where he did and had outstripped him.""It's luck," he said; "whatever that man touches goes right.""P'rhaps there's somethin' in touching the right thing," said Mrs Day."It's luck all round. Look at 'Arry. Why haven't we got a son like 'Arry? Our children are nothin' but a trouble and a expense to us, and when they're on their own they vanish like Tom and Albert. What's the good of children?""Gertie and Lily keep theirselves," his wife reminded him."They do and they don't. Off one day and 'ome the next if I don't put a foot down. They say 'Arry's goin' to be a better man than his father and he's all the children they've got. Girls bring a peck o' trouble into any famerly.""How?" inquired Priscilla, who was eating her second bun very slowly because she had been told she could not be allowed a third. They were her buns, but they must be made to last, her mother intimated. Priscilla was used to hearing her father growl all through a meal, sometimes at the food, sometimes at the cottage, most often at his fate. He was a middle-sized, round-eyed, rather foolish-looking man, with less than half the wits of his wife and none of her character. He was neither bad nor good, neither idle nor energetic, neither ignorant nor capable. The most sensible thing he had ever done for himself was to fall in love with his wife and persuade her to marry him; and the most foolish thing she had ever done was to be persuaded. That is judging the marriage and their worldly fortunes from the worldly point of view. But they were still an attached couple, although, when he began to growl, Mrs Day often wished that, like Tom and Albert, she could vanish; and in spite of their poverty they had some happy hours. He knew

it was a terrible thing to be out of work, but he enjoyed getting the garden into order and had assured his wife that morning that they would soon be able to live on vegetables--very nearly."A girl can't even help in the garden," he said now to Priscilla. "At least she don't. I could do with some 'elp there.""What do you want done?" asked Mrs Day. There was nothing whatever for Priscilla to do, and her mother knew it. The little plot of land had been dug and redug since they came in June and was now neatly planted with winter and spring vegetables that would soon begin to help the household fare."Why can't she weed a bit?" asked Priscilla's father."How do girls bring trouble into a family?" persisted Priscilla."Oh! one way and another," said her father vaguely. "Look at Lily always changin'--and Gertie gettin' a young man as won't marry 'er for years, and you a big girl and not earnin' a penny yet, and wearin' out boots as if they grew on furze bushes. One son like 'Arry Masters 'ud do me better than fifty girls."CHAPTER IIITHE worst time came just before Priscilla left school, when her parents took to the poultry. Taking to the poultry at Daneswick did not mean rearing ducks and chickens, but buying them from the farms and preparing them for table and selling them where they could at a profit of threepence or fourpence each. To fetch the birds from all points of the compass and then to hawk them round, Sam Day had to have a little donkey cart: the donkey had to be fed whether trade was brisk or slow, and occasionally the cart, a second-hand one, had to be repaired; so the profits even in summer were small, while in early spring, when poultry was scarce and dear, they often dropped to nothing. Besides, it put work on Mrs Day that was fatiguing, unhealthy and badly paid. She had to pluck and truss the birds for market, and the only place she could do it in was a damp and badly lighted garden shed. Here the poor woman sat all day and sometimes late into the night, surrounded by fluff and feathers, cramped and weary, often cross, but driven to fag on because she knew no other way of making money, and at the same time staying at home to see to her husband and child's comfort. Mrs Day did not like trusting Sam and Priscilla to make a cup of tea for themselves, and as she had always waited on them hand and foot, they were not fit to be trusted.The poultry had not been Sam's idea, but had been suggested and managed by Miss Parker. She was

the Vicar's sister and kept house for him. She also acted as his curate in all ways allowed by the Church, and she was uniformly disliked in the parish because she was officious and inconsiderate. Mrs Day could not abide her and never let her into the cottage if she could help it. But last winter in six months Sam had only earned seven pounds and if Mrs Day had not gone out charing they could not have kept themselves off the rates. It had been a nightmare winter of gloom, chill and short commons. When Mrs Day went out everything seemed to go wrong at home, and hateful as the plucking was, she could do it near her own hearth. So when Miss Parker said to Sam that there was an unexplored gold mine in poultry, that she could sell him a donkey and knew of a cart, and that he could pay for both in instalments, he was easily persuaded. That very day he had left the saucepan on the fire till the potatoes were burnt and the saucepan too. He and Priscilla had dined on bread, and when Mrs Day came back from a day's spring cleaning, instead of pitying them, she had boxed Priscilla's ears, and told him he was good for nothing but to waste what she earned. That was neither fair nor amiable; but when a woman has worked till every bone in her body aches and finds that while she has worked her man has wasted, she doesn't feel amiable. The wolf at the door tries the best of tempers. However, such outbursts were rare in this household, and after talking it over, the husband and wife agreed to accept Miss Parker's proposal, which would have the merit of keeping Mrs Day at home and which could at the worst be given up again. Sam liked the idea of earning his bread by sitting in his own cart, but his wife told him that riding about in all weathers would give him the

rheumatics and that plucking chickens in that shed would be the death of her. Still there seemed to be no alternative. The price of the donkey and cart hung round their necks for months and worried their dreams, but before Christmas it had been paid off. By that time, however, the gold mine looked more and more illusory. Mrs Day foresaw lean months after Christmas, when spring chickens were not ready, and old ones scarce and unmarketable."The donkey'll have to be fed all the same," she said to Miss Parker, when that lady popped in one day to ask for a subscription and was told that the gold mine had not yielded much."Can't you feed the donkey on scraps?" said Miss Parker. She was old enough to know better: a woman of sixty, perhaps, who trudged up and down the parish in short skirts and clumsy boots popping in on people who did not want her, always sure that those she instructed were fools and not infrequently making a fool of herself. She was capable of advising a skilled farmer about his crops, having culled her own knowledge that morning from the odd paragraphs in a halfpenny paper."We don't have any scraps," said Mrs Day."Oh, nonsense! You must have potato peelings and bits of bread and dripping and bones. Did you know that an English family throws away what a French family feeds on?""No, I don't," said Mrs Day. In her opinion Miss Parker was not "gentry," and sometimes she showed her opinion in her manner. There was not food for a mouse thrown away in that cottage. Every loaf was finished to the last crumb; they ate their potatoes, coats and all; they had no dripping when they had no

meat. Any they could get they spread on bread and liked it better than margarine. Butter they did not buy, and bacon this winter was dearer than beef."I found Mrs Spiller feeding the baby on tinned lobster just now," Miss Parker went on. "I should have thought you might have given her the benefit of your experience sometimes and told her it would upset a child of that age. You were a nurse, weren't you?""I was in the nursery for fifteen years.""At Morne Castle part of the time?""Yes, m'm."Mrs Day sat in the shed plucking a turkey and Miss Parker sat on a packing-case outside. It was a mild December day, but even on a mild day the shed was damp and chilly. It looked full of birds and feathers just now, for a large Christmas order had come in from a Daneswick poulterer and Mrs Day had been plucking the birds all yesterday, half through the night and again since early morning. She was tired, dazed, cramped, and she wished Miss Parker would go. She was conscious that the shed was in a horrible mess, and that she herself looked like a sloven, for she could only do this work in an old collarless blouse and coarse Hessian apron kept for the purpose, and to keep the feathers out of her hair she had tied a red handkerchief over her head."I am sure this shed ought to be swept out sometimes," said Miss Parker. "It must be insanitary. Has the inspector been round?""I haven't seen him," said Mrs Day."I suppose you do sweep it out occasionally?" Mrs Day did not answer, but began to truss her turkey neatly and quickly. She was affronted by

Miss Parker's question, for as far as possible her husband and she between them kept the shed clean. The feathers heaped up in it now were not two days old."To return to the question of food," said Miss Parker, who had met Mrs Day's silent moods before and resented them: "whenever I pop in next door there seems to be a meal going on and a tin of fish or fruit on the table. When you reckon up what that costs per week, it is appalling. I suppose you live in much the same way, or don't you?"Mrs Day pushed a skewer vindictively through her turkey and said nothing."I certainly could not afford it myself," soliloquized Miss Parker, whose manner was growing acid. "By the look of Mrs Spiller's dust-heap, I should say that you could easily feed the donkey on what they throw away. I don't know exactly what a donkey eats, because at the Rectory the groom fed him, but they can't be particular or poor people wouldn't keep them. You ought to arrange with Mrs Spiller and give her something in return. Why shouldn't Priscilla look after the children sometimes? It would be a relief to poor Mrs Spiller and get Priscilla used to being with children. I suppose you mean her to go into service?""I have not decided yet what to do with Priscilla, but she won't go near the Spillers," said Mrs Day.Miss Parker rose from her packing-case and gathered up her basket and umbrella."I wish I could persuade our cottagers to be more neighbourly," she said. "My brother preaches to them every Sunday about Christian charity, but they forget it in the week.""There wouldn't be much charity about giving the donkey Mrs Spiller's pail," said Mrs Day tersely."If it's at the back, we have to shut our bedroom window. But the beast 'ud have more sense--"She did not finish her sentence, because Miss Parker interrupted her with a stiff good-morning, and told her brother when she got home that you wanted the patience of a saint to deal with the lower classes, they were so ungrateful, dirty and extravagant. The Vicar, who had the patience of a saint with his sister, asked where she had been and annoyed her by refusing to lump the Spillers and the Days together."One family is a scandal to the parish, and the other family any parish might be glad to have. The Days are very poor now, but they are thrifty and respectable," said the Vicar."When people are poor it is their own fault," said Miss Parker, who had never earned a penny. "It is always either extravagance or drink."The Vicar did not argue with his sister. You might as well argue with a monument as with a woman who has the narrowest possible experience of life and no modesty of judgment. But as his boys were expected home for Christmas, and she complained that the maids would be overworked, he suggested that perhaps Mrs Day would come in and help them. Miss Parker said that what the maids wanted was a little help for an hour or two in the morning, and that she thought Priscilla might be taught to make herself useful. Mrs Day was such a large woman and the Rectory kitchen was not large. Besides, last time Mrs Day came for a day's work when White was out she had cleaned the kitchen so thoroughly that White considered it a slur on herself, and took offence. Didn't the Vicar remember?The Vicar didn't remember, but he told his sister to do as she pleased; so next day Miss Parker popped into

the Days' garden again, and again found Mrs Day plucking poultry in the shed. But it was windy, the feathers were blowing about, and Mrs Day put down the bird she had in her hands, took off her coarse apron and invited her visitor into the cottage. The poor woman was not well. Privation, anxiety and the long hours in the shed were telling on her, and she was suffering from asthma and rheumatism. She looked more than her age; she breathed heavily and her stiff joints affected her movement."Meat is the worst thing for rheumatism," said Miss Parker, looking round the cottage to see if all was as it should be. "All the modern doctors say so. You should avoid meat."Mrs Day offered Miss Parker the only comfortable chair in the cottage and sat down heavily herself."You should avoid meat," repeated Miss Parker."I do," said Mrs Day dryly.Miss Parker sniffed incredulously. There was an appetizing smell in the room, because Mrs Day was making a poor man's stew of potatoes and one or two onions, and a scrap of bacon that would go on Sam's plate. Its potatoes and onions with a bit of bread would be dinner enough for Priscilla and her, and a better one than they had had since Sunday."I have come to speak to you about Priscilla," said Miss Parker."What has Priscilla been doing?""I mean that the Vicar takes an interest in her--not a special interest, naturally--but as one of his parishioners."It was absurd, but Miss Parker often found herself embarrassed by Mrs Day, in whom she saw nothing but an untidy, starved old woman."Priscilla leaves school this Christmas," said Mrs Day."Does she? At any rate the holidays commence next week, and it is just as well that she should not idle about at home. Children get into bad ways so easily.""Does the Vicar expect the young gentlemen this Christmas?" inquired Mrs Day civilly."Yes; and they are bringing friends with them; so we shall be busy. How old is Priscilla?""Fourteen.""Then it's time she went out. The sooner a girl begins the better. She can't learn anything here, you know.""She has learnt what I can teach her.""But, my good woman, what can you teach her? Nothing that will be of any use to her in a gentleman's house.""I should be sorry to think of gentlemen's houses in such a way," said Mrs Day. "I've taught Priscilla to be clean and tidy and keep those commandments that concern a child. She is truthful too, and kind to animals, and minds her own business, three things the commandments leave out and we have put in.""My brother the Vicar--" began Miss Parker, looking rather scandalized by Mrs Day's allusions to the commandments. It seemed impertinent for a cottager to quote Scripture to one so near the cloth as herself. But, after all, she had nothing to say just then about her brother the Vicar, so she started again."Priscilla ought to go into a gentleman's house at once and learn to speak and behave properly," she said, "I often see her flying about the common with a scarlet cap and a mop of hair--""Priscilla has a fine head of hair, and I've no fault

to find with her manners as a rule," said Mrs Day. "Of course all children--"She stopped short, because unfortunately Priscilla arrived from school just then, and did not behave as a model child should. She flung through the gate, dashed across the garden and, before she saw Miss Parker, called out that she wanted her dinner and hoped it would be a hot one. When she discovered her mother's visitor, she stood still awkwardly and looked shy and silly as a flapper will, even when she has had more social chances than Priscilla. But she looked uncommonly pretty too, in spite of her odds and ends of clothes: a faded serge skirt, a shabby old black coat and the weather-beaten red cap on her dark curly hair."Priscilla!" said Mrs Day warningly, and Priscilla made the little curtsy children in that neighbourhood were taught to make."Well, Priscilla!" said Miss Parker. "What a big girl you are! It's time you thought of earning your dinner, and being a help to your kind parents, I'm sure."Priscilla stood rooted to the ground, still shy, and still silly. Mrs Day did not speak."I want a little extra help in the kitchen over the holidays," said Miss Parker. "If you'll send Priscilla every morning at seven, Mrs Day, I'll give her her breakfast and eighteenpence a week.""Oh, mother, do let me go," exclaimed Priscilla. Eighteenpence a week sounded immense to a child who of late years hardly ever had a penny; and she did not stop to consider what would be exacted of her in return."It would be a start," said Mrs Day, without any excess of gratitude in her tone. She knew better than Priscilla what may be put on a little morning drudge in a kitchen if the mistress of the house is inconsiderate

and ignorant of what it is her business to understand. Also, she knew the Vicarage servants by sight, and reputation, and did not like them."She must have tidy aprons and shoes," said Miss Parker. "I can't have her creaking about in boots. You must consider what a charity it is to employ a girl straight from a cottage home. They are more hindrance than help for a long time, and they are so destructive.""What will Priscilla's duties be?" asked Mrs Day."Oh, just to help where she is wanted. White and Jackson will tell her what to do. Of course she'll have the boots and knives. Is she used to a knife machine?""She has never seen one.""Then she must be careful at first. The last girl ruined some of our knives.""What is a knife machine?" asked Priscilla, when Miss Parker had gone: and Mrs Day explained the working of one while she plucked her turkey.CHAPTER IVIN spite of their poverty, Priscilla had been brought up with care and tenderness. Whenever the elder sisters came home, they complained that she was spoiled, and it was true that Mrs Day did all the rough work of the cottage herself. From a sense of duty she had taught Priscilla how to turn out a room and clean boots and knives, but like most workers, she found it easier to do the thing herself than to teach others how it should be done. Lately she had troubled about Priscilla's start in life, because she wanted her to do better than Gertie and Lily, who were always changing. She had lost touch with the great family she had served years ago, and did not even know which of them were alive. Since her husband's bankruptcy and their removal to Tinker's Green, she had lost touch with most of her friends, and she never walked across the common to Daneswick now. She did not think the start as morning girl at the Vicarage a good one, but it was better than beginning as a drudge in a lodging-house, or a tradesman's family, and Mrs Day knew that gentry do not usually employ children of fourteen. So one winter morning through wind and snow Priscilla set off across the common, looking rather small and cold and frightened. She wore new, creaky boots, and she carried a clean linen apron and a coarse Hessian one to put over it. The thought of having eighteenpence at the end of the week sustained her. She would have to give it to her mother of course, but Mrs Day had promised

that she should have twopence back again to spend as she pleased.Priscilla had been in the Vicarage kitchen once or twice, and knew White the cook, and Jackson the housemaid slightly. They had always been high and mighty with her, and she did not expect them to be agreeable now. White was a gaunt, crookedly built woman with the temper of a shrew; Jackson had a snub nose, was inclined to stoutness and looked stupid and conceited. When Priscilla knocked at the back door no one answered, and when she opened it she saw no one either in the scullery or the kitchen. However, she went in, took off her hat and jacket, and put on her linen apron. As she was fastening it White appeared, carrying one of those heavy round gipsy coal scuttles that are cheap to buy, but killing to carry when full."Oh! you're come!" she flung sulkily at Priscilla. "Fill this and carry it into the dining-room, and then fill both the kitchen ones, and then do the boots and get a move on you. Miss Jackson'll want that lot o' boots with 'er 'ot water."Priscilla looked at the scuttles and looked at the pile of muddy boots. In the first hour of bondage her heart sank, and her spirit failed her: but needs must: so, finding the empty scuttle nearly enough for her small strength, she took it from the cook and asked where the coal was kept."In the coal-cellar," said White shortly, and pointed to a door close to Priscilla. Then she disappeared again. She had to bustle about to get the dining-room and hall swept, fires lighted, and breakfast ready for ten people by half-past eight; for during the holidays there were seven in the dining-room, and for breakfast three in the kitchen.Priscilla found that the coal-cellar was heaped high with coal and kept in bounds by rough bars of wood across the doorway. She stared up at it and down at the empty scuttle. If you have never tried to get coal out of a heaped-up cellar you will not understand how helpless she felt. There were huge blocks that needed splitting, and there was small dusty stuff that would not be coaxed into a shovel. She stood on a chair and tried, but did not fill the shovel that way. Then she managed to pick out some smaller lumps, balance them on the shovel and get off the chair again. It took some time, but at last the scuttle was full, and she tried to lift it. She found she could not, so she fetched one of the kitchen scuttles and unloaded into that."Are you never coming with that coal?" White sang out across the hall, so Priscilla lifted it with both hands and bumped across the kitchen with it as best she could."Hurry up," cried the cook, "my wood's alight."Priscilla tried to hurry under a load that bent her double, and got to the dining-room door in safety, but not beyond it. Whether she tripped over a mat, or whether the scuttle pulled her maleficently with it, she could not say, but she fell, and the scuttle fell too, rolling lumps of coal upon the carpet. Hastily she picked herself up, very sorry for herself, because she had barked her knee against the sharp edges of the scuttle, and it hurt her. The cook, hearing the noise, turned from the chimneypiece. She was dusting, saw her clean-swept carpet strewn with coal, and before she spoke boxed Priscilla's ears. Then she scolded volubly, and Priscilla, overcome by pain and desolation, began to cry. The noise they made drew Jackson from the study, broom in hand."Hullo!" she said, when she saw the coal on the floor, but she was more good natured than White, and she knelt on the floor with Priscilla and helped her pick it up."What's the good of a kid like this?" she said, looking up at the cook. "Look at her skinny little arms. Why didn't she give us good 'elp while she was about it?""That's what I'll arsk 'er presently," said White, and then turned to Priscilla. "Get along and clean the boots now," she said.Priscilla got along, still sobbing in a passion of misery and resentment. Never in her small life had she hurt herself without receiving help and pity. Her knee was rather badly grazed and pained her, the shock of her fall had left her weak and tremulous. She was so much a petted baby still that she wanted her mother to comfort her, and when she saw the scullery door she was tempted to run home. But the child, though she had been indulged, had grit in her. Besides, she knew that; though her mother was kind and tender, she was determined too, and would not give way readily. If she ran home now she might be sent back again, and that would be mortifying. She looked at the pile of boots she was told to clean, and began on the first one. But it was mid-winter, the soil around Daneswick was heavy, and the Vicar with his two sons and their friends had taken a long walk the day before. Priscilla saw ten large boots as heavily caked with mud as her father's were when he came back from a day's work: and her father always cleaned his own. She knew that you must be careful not to cut boots, so she did not take a knife to them, but she had often seen her mother sponge off the worst of the mud before it dried. She saw a greasy

black rag hanging on the top of the sink, and thought it was probably used for this purpose; for you must remember that in Mrs Day's cottage, small and poor as it was, Priscilla had seen cleanly ways. So she took the rag, turned on a dribble of hot water and tried to wash the mud off the boots. The sink was soon as dirty as a gutter, but she persevered until a heavy hand pulled her roughly away and inquired of the little devil what she was doing.Priscilla faced her, too much shocked to be afraid. "You swore," she said."I'll swear again in a minnit," said the cook. "How dare you touch my dishcloth?""How could I know?" said Priscilla. "It was black."The cook gasped and inquired whether white satin was used for dishcloths at Tinker's Green. Into the argument came Jackson, demanding dry, polished boots to take up with hot water."There's not one pair ready," said the cook. "They'll 'ave to wait till after breakfast. Be quick down again, Jacky."When Jacky came down again Priscilla was told to wash her hands and come in to breakfast. For the kitchen nothing was provided but cheap tea and bread and butter, and the servants would not have been human if they had not desired some of the bacon sizzling in a big frying-pan."Give us a bit, old girl," Jacky said to the cook. "I don't fancy my breakfast without a relish.""No more don't I," said White; "but you know her last game. She buys it cut and counts the slices.""She would," said Jacky; "but some might be long and some short."The cook shook her head doubtfully, but got up and cut off a little from some of the slices in the pan. Most of this she put on Jacky's plate and her own, but she gave Priscilla a scrap that made the hungry child wish ravenously for more. However, she had as much thick bread and scrape as she wanted and went back to her boot-cleaning refreshed. When she had done all the black ones, her arms ached as they had never ached before, but there were still brown shoes belonging to Miss Parker and her niece. Priscilla knew better than to touch brown shoes with black brushes, but though she looked everywhere she could see no other brushes and no brown cream. As she heard Miss Parker's voice in the kitchen, she felt shy about intruding there and spent some time filling the empty scuttles she had been told to fill. Then, as she knew she ought not to stand idle, she innocently opened the kitchen door and looked in. Miss Parker and White stood near the table, a half-eaten leg of mutton between them, and if Priscilla had looked in on a Cabinet Council she could hardly have been received with a chillier stare."Can I have a brush for the brown boots, please?" she said to White."The brush is where it always is," answered White ill-temperedly, and turning to her mistress she said that it was nearly ten o'clock, the boots were not done yet, and how the work was to be got through she did not know."What have you been doing ever since breakfast?" said Miss Parker to Priscilla."Filling scuttles and cleanin' boots, ma'am," said Priscilla."You must have dawdled," said Miss Parker sharply.

"I expect the boots to be done before breakfast." Then she turned to White and said: "A boy would have got through the work better.""I can't set a boy to clean my kitchen," said White crossly, "and I've no time myself with so much goin' on. I've only one pair of 'ands."Miss Parker retreated as quickly as possible. She always did when White mentioned that she only had one pair of 'ands. She could not contradict it. She could only supply her with another pair as cheaply as possible, and this she had done. It was White's business to make the extra pair useful. This White did, until the early dinner was ready, when she sent Priscilla home hungry and more tired than she had ever been before. Besides cleaning the boots and knives, and filling the scuttles, she had cleaned the kitchen and the scullery, on her knees most of the time, and discovered that on a biter winter day the draughts on the floor chill a poorly clad little girl till her teeth chatter. When she went home and told her mother how she had fared, she expected to hear that she need not go again. But whatever Mrs Day thought, she only said that Priscilla would soon get used to the work and do it quicker and better."Shall I have to work like that always--till I die?" asked Priscilla, casting her mind into the future, as a child of her age will for a moment, appalled, whether she is rich or poor, by the shadows the facts of life cast across it."There are worse things than work," said Mrs Day evasively, trying as unselfish age will not to throw the blight of its own failure over the budding confidence of youth."What things?""Illness--death--shame. . . . Better die of work than of laziness--or drink."Priscilla was having a little rest. She had eaten an agreeable amount of potatoes and fried onions for her dinner, and was now enjoying a dessert of bread and treacle. She sat just inside the shed where her mother was plucking, and she had to hold her hand over her bit of bread and treacle to prevent the little bits of down and flying feathers from settling on it."What shall we have for our Christmas dinner, mother?" she asked."Whatever we can get.""Why can't we have one of those turkeys?""Because we are too poor to pay for it.""But dad has paid for them.""He's got to get his money back on them and a bit more. You're old enough not to talk so silly, Priscilla.""Seems to me some have the turkeys and some have the feathers," said Priscilla.Mrs Day went on plucking and made no reply. The child had come back from her first morning's work white and trembling with the fatigue of it, and had hardly spoken till some food revived her. Then she had chattered as a child will about the spilt coal and the muddy boots and the bits of bacon unlawfully snatched from the pan. Mrs Day had listened, had noted the marks of tears on Priscilla's cheeks, had rebuked her for the extreme dirtiness of her apron and had wished she could say the child should not go again to-morrow. But she knew that a recommendation from a vicarage has a hall-mark of its own, and that if Priscilla served there even for a short time, she would get other work without much difficulty, pro-

vided Miss Parker or the Vicar would speak for her. She was desperately anxious to see Priscilla starting on her own feet, and independent of a home that might not hold together much longer. Her husband and she had led strenuous, honourable lives, they had reared five children, and Sam had scraped together a goodish bit of money, if only he had been lucky or wise enough to keep it, or, better still, increase it. Masters, the builder, had been at school with Sam and had not started work in better circumstances, but how he had gone ahead from the beginning! Whatever he touched seemed to prosper, while every enterprise of Sam's seemed foredoomed to failure.Priscilla watched her mother's compressed lips and darkened brow and knew that she was thinking of the "shop," the word that in their household brought in its train all the troubled history of the last few years."There's a lady comin' in at the gate!" she said suddenly. "Why, 'tis Mrs Masters!"Mrs Day said "Drat it!" because she was not in a condition to receive visitors; but she got up and went to the shed door. Her coarse apron was stained and covered with feathers, and so was her cheap, worn blouse; her hands were red and rough with work and her body crippled by rheumatism. It was difficult to believe that she was only a year or two older than the trim, middle-aged woman who had come to see her. Mrs Masters wore a tailor-made coat and skirt, a fashionable hat and a fur boa and muff."I've come to buy our Christmas turkey," she said. "My husband met yours and heard you had some good ones and I'm to have the biggest."Mrs Day produced the biggest, a bird she had plucked

that morning, wondering who would give Sam its price."It's thirty shillings," she said."It's worth it," said Mrs Masters, and produced the money."I suppose Mr Masters is very busy now," said Mrs Day, when she had arranged that Sam should leave the bird on his rounds to-morrow morning. A man must be busy, she reflected, before he can afford thirty shillings for his Christmas dinner."I might as well have no husband nor no son neither," said Mrs Masters. "They're in the house for meals and out again before you can say Jack Robinson, and at night they're at it still, calculatin', measurin' and writing--if I try to get a word in edgeways they say I'm worreting them. It's a life!"It was the plaint of a woman whose menfolk are doing well in the world and who is proud of them and contented but a little lonely."If you'll come in, I'll make a cup o' tea in a minnit," said Mrs Day. "Don't say no.""I'll accept with pleasure," said Mrs Masters. "It's a goodish stretch from our shop up here, and I'm not so young as I was.""Priscilla, run in and put the kettle on and lay the table," said Mrs Day, taking off her apron, coat and handkerchief. Mrs Masters looked after the girl, as she sped into the cottage."What you going to do with her?" she asked. "Hal's quite struck with her being so pretty. I like a bit more colour myself, but her eyes are all right.""She's going to service," said Mrs Day. "What else can she do?"CHAPTER V"CAN see she has been brought up well and has learned her manners," said Mrs Masters, taking the chair that Priscilla brought to the tea-table for her. Mrs Masters had been a parlourmaid once, and she noted with approval that the tea was set just so; and Priscilla had set it without her mother's help. Mrs Masters had watched her put on the cloth, and the black tray, and get the tea-things from the cupboard. Luckily there was a little bit of butter in the house and a pot of home-made blackberry jam. The fire was burning and the kettle singing. Altogether the room looked homely and tidy, although Mrs Day herself, in her working clothes, was a regular scarecrow. Mrs Masters, who had known her in better days, felt sorry for her."I've brought Priscilla up as particular as if she'd been born with a silver spoon in her mouth," Mrs Day said in an aside to her guest, "poor little image!"Mrs Masters was evidently in a reflective mood. She drank two cups of tea and ate first a slice of bread and butter and then a slice of bread and jam, and she talked of this and that. But you could see at the back of her mind something was brewing for which her tongue was not quite ready yet. She had been a tall, slim, pretty girl, and was still what Daneswick people called a "personable" woman, holding herself well and observing life with the bright, rather small brown eyes she had handed on to her son. She talked

of household affairs and of her neighbours, and showed in all she said intelligence, determination and severity of judgment. She could be kind, you would gather, to people who deserved it, but she would not think many deserving. However, she had always liked Mrs Day; and she evidently took to Priscilla. Her quick, bright eyes returned again and again to the child, and presently, when Priscilla had gone off on some little errand; she said to Mrs Day:"My girl's leavin' at her month. But she's seventeen and can cook and wash.""Why are you partin' with her?" asked Mrs Day."Because she's a hussy. You've no idea how careful you've got to be with a grown-up son in the house. The girls are that forward nowadays."Priscilla came in again, and a whispered colloquy between the two older women went on, while she cleared the table."Harry said that if he could get done in time he'd come across the common and meet me," said Mrs Masters presently to Priscilla. "You run out, my dear, and see if he's on his way.""He ought to be done early on a Saturday, but he never is," she said to Mrs Day, when Priscilla had disappeared. "She won't see him, especially as it's gettin' dark, but we can talk better without her. How old is she?""Fourteen this last September.""It's young--and the trouble they are to train--Well, you know all about that.""Priscilla is quick though, and she'll learn a lot at the Vicarage this month. I've taught her a bit too; though I agree with you--it's more bother to teach than to do the thing oneself.""It is that," said Mrs Masters pensively. While she hesitated, Mrs Day thought round the matter too. It was not the start she desired for Priscilla. She herself had gone straight into a "good house," where there were twelve indoor servants and where the force of example had transformed the little country wench into a smart nursery-maid in no time. Mrs Day knew that Priscilla's start was important and that good houses do not easily take their maids from small trades people. She also believed that in a large house the servants are better treated in every way and, with ordinary luck, not overworked. She knew a great deal more about the ways and opinions of rich people than many a foaming demagogue who gets the ear of the poor, because she had lived with them for fifteen years and had served in families she liked and respected. But though she was a Kent woman and had married a Kent man, her days of service had been spent in northern England. Forty years ago she had gone to her first place, twenty-five years ago she had left her last one to be married. That part of her life seemed to recede, misty and half remembered, behind the events of later years: the births and deaths of many children and the creeping oppression of poverty. From those younger days no one remained with whom she could communicate. Priscilla must go out into the world as best she could, and the sooner the better, because her father and mother were in a bad way."I'm as active as ever I was, but John wishes me to have a girl," said Mrs Masters. "He says there's no call for me to fag myself, and he won't have it. I tell him there wouldn't be half the work if he'd chosen a more gentlemanly trade. What those two bring in on their boots and clothes, you wouldn't believe. John's

a man who must have his finger in the pie himself. The messier the job, the more he likes it, and Harry is as like his father as two peas in a pod."While Mrs Masters chatted, Mrs Day came to a conclusion."Miss Parker only wants Priscilla for the holidays," she said. "If you'd take her for a month on trial when she's finished there, it can't do either side much harm that I can see. If she doesn't suit she can come home again, and if she does she can stay on."So it was settled, and when Priscilla came in again she was told."Six pounds a year and a rise at the end of the first year, and every Sunday an afternoon walk home, back again before dark, and no evenings out till you're older, by your mother's wishes," said Mrs Masters.Priscilla, her eyes very bright, and her cheeks paler than usual, shuffled from one foot to the other, and looked reproachfully at her mother. It sounded to her as if she was being turned away from home at an early age."I'm not sixteen," she said at last. "Gertie and Lily were gone sixteen when they went out.""Times were different," said her mother."I don't want to have her if she's going to be home-sick and whiney-piney," said Mrs Masters, taking fright. "I thought I was doin' you a turn, Mrs Day.""So you are. Priscilla doesn't know which side her bread is buttered yet. She's only a kid.""I don't like service," announced Priscilla."Hark at her!" cried Mrs Day, scandalized. "She's only had one morning at it neither.""Well, you must talk it over and let me know as soon as possible," said Mrs Masters, getting up; "I don't

mind which way it is. Good servants are scarce, but little girls that are more trouble than they're worth I can get any day.""I should think so indeed," said Mrs Day, and when she had seen her guest out of the garden gate she returned to the kitchen and read Priscilla a homily. The gist of it was depressing. She must no longer play as a child, she was told, or live in idleness. Her working life had begun, and from now on she must earn her bread."Till I get married," suggested Priscilla."Don't I earn mine?" said Mrs Day. "I've worked harder since I married than ever I did before. Besides, how do you know you'll ever be married?""Polly Spiller's got a young man already," said Priscilla. "She walks out with him on Sundays."Mrs Day on occasion had a compelling eye. She withered Priscilla by the rebuke of her glance, told her she didn't want to hear anything about Polly Spiller or her goings-on, and then went back to the shed to pluck another turkey.When Sam Day was told of Mrs Masters' offer, he wanted to refuse it, but his wife soon brought him round to her way of thinking. There would be a mouth less to fill at home, and Priscilla would be learning to stand on her own feet. She must have some cotton frocks and aprons, and then she would be off their hands as the others were. It was the best her parents could do for her."Does she want to go?" asked Sam."No, she doesn't," said his wife. "She'd like to stay at home and have every comfort and enjoy herself. What's the good of asking questions like that? She's got to go, and that's all there is about it."Priscilla soon saw it that way too. She had go to go out whether she wanted to or not, and she would rather begin with Mrs Masters than with total strangers. Perhaps Harry would give her some sugary buns again and look at her with bright, friendly eyes when she felt homesick. Anyhow, she was to have new cotton frocks and aprons and be almost grown up. She went to the Vicarage next day feeling years older and wiser than she had felt the day before, and at breakfast she told White and Jackson that she had got a place. They asked where, and when they were told they sniffed and said that they themselves had never engaged with middle-class people, even when they first went out. At the same time they intimated that to be a skivvy over a shop was good enough for Priscilla."What's a skivvy?" asked Priscilla, when she went home."It's a horrid word for a servant," said Mrs Day."If I must be a skivvy, why can't I go in a big house with a lot of others like you did?""Because I don't know of one that's asking for you, and Mrs Masters is. You'll go where I send you, miss, and behave yourself. When the time comes you can better yourself. That's what I did; and before I married I was having my thirty-five pounds a year and all found.""I wonder what Polly Spiller gets?""Whatever she gets she spends on her back. You'll bring your money to me every week, and I'll start you with a saving's-book at once. You'll put by something regular against a rainy day.""Polly Spiller has a new red coat and skirt, and a velvet hat with a feather in it.""Polly Spiller can do as she likes, but you're not

goin' to make a Guy Fox of yourself. . . . Did you get through your work to-day?"Priscilla said that to-day had been less eventful than yesterday, and that by to-morrow she thought she would be pretty well up to her work--not that she liked it. She was sure she would never like cleaning boots and knives, and scrubbing floors, and she wanted to know what niche she must fill in a household in order to escape those duties. Mrs Day told her not to worry about that yet. She would have to fulfil these duties and others not usually considered agreeable until she was older."In a year or two you can make your choice," said Mrs Day, "whether you'll go into the kitchen or the nursery, or keep at the housework. They all have their disadvantages."Priscilla had got on well at school, and liked her school work; but she had looked forward as other children do, to the end of her schooldays when lessons would be done. She had not yet realized that harder drudgery and less-pleasing work lay before her, the terminus invisible. Compared with school, the Vicarage scullery was repulsive, and the work she had to do coarse and degrading. She wondered whether things would be worse or better with Mrs Masters, and as she was a girl of grit, she determined that she would make her apprenticeship a short one and soon move upward. She would not stay in the kitchen, she told her mother, because she was sure she would never like the grease and heat of cooking. She did not fancy nursery work either. She thought she would be a parlourmaid like Gertie and Lily."They are only house-parlourmaids in small houses," said Mrs Day, with a sigh. Like all servants who have

lived in large houses she had a contempt for small ones. But Gertie and Lily were old enough to go their own way, and if they chose to live with a Mrs Smith and a Mrs Jones in a London suburb, she could not prevent them. They maintained themselves and were therefore independent.For the next three weeks Priscilla went on with her job at the Vicarage, not liking it, but learning to do the work better and more quickly. Meanwhile Mrs Day went to Daneswick and bought enough dark blue cotton for two frocks for Priscilla, and enough white linen for six aprons. These she cut out at night, and Priscilla had to do the sewing in the afternoons. She was to have a little tin trunk Gertie had left behind last holidays and a black frock for afternoons made from an ancient merino of her mother's. New boots and shoes were out of the question, Mrs Day said, and so were muslin aprons. Priscilla must buy those later out of her wages. But two or three days before she left home Gertie and Lily each sent her a five-shilling postal order for caps and aprons, and her mother let her go to Daneswick and cash them and spend the money. That was a red-letter day. Her own boots were strong and tidy, so the ten shillings bought her a pair of house shoes and two muslin aprons, and two caps and six new pocket handkerchiefs."I don't suppose Mrs Masters will expect you to wear anything but pinafores at your age," said her mother. "But if you do your hair up, you'll look more than fourteen. My gracious child! you can't wear a cap with your hair all down your back like a lion's mane. Take it off, do."For Priscilla had perched one of her little mob caps on her curly head, and it looked attractive but absurd. She ran upstairs without saying anything and stayed

there so long that her mother called up to her to come down at once and get the tea ready."Yes, ma'am," called out Priscilla; and dashed downstairs, completely dressed in her new clothes, very excited and pleased with herself. She had bought some hairpins and pinned up her hair; she wore a cap, a blue cotton frock and a muslin apron. She looked extremely pretty and too young to fend for herself. Her mother did not speak, but looked at her and, though she was a woman of the people, little read and much buffeted by life, wishes arose in her mind like those the German poet crystallized in his poem. Her thoughts and hopes blessed Priscilla, and she prayed that she might remain what she was now, a fair maid and a good one. But you would never have guessed from Mrs Day's speech that she had tender thoughts in her mind."You little blockhead," she said. "Haven't I told you over and over again that you're to wear your coarse aprons of mornings with your cotton frocks, and these muslin ones when Mrs Masters wants you to dress of afternoons?"So, after a month's practice at the Vicarage and a little coaching of this kind from her mother, Priscilla drove off with her tin trunk one winter afternoon to her first place. Sam Day took her in the donkey cart and set her down at the private door, which was close to the shop. He would not go in, or even wait for the door to be opened, but drove off in a mighty hurry, leaving his girl and her trunk on the doorstep. He hated the thought of her going to this house in bondage and would have preferred to place her with strangers. But Priscilla, who felt afraid and desolate, revived when Mrs Masters herself opened the door and gave her a kind welcome."Rub your shoes well, and then give me a hand with your trunk," she commanded. "I see it's a sensible small one. I'm glad your mother sent you early. I've some friends to supper to-night, and there's a lot to do. You can put on an apron at once and come along and help me."Priscilla found that she was to have a tiny bedroom looking at a blank wall and furnished with a small iron bedstead, a rickety chest of drawers, a painted washstand and a little hanging glass. The counterpane was coloured cotton, the strip of Dutch carpet was worn and frayed, the cane-bottomed chair was hardly safe to sit on. In fact it was the depressing room often considered good enough for servants in better houses than this one. But to have it to herself was agreeable, and it did not depress Priscilla, because she was not used to anything better. She hastily changed her Sunday frock for a cotton one, put on a linen apron and found her way into the kitchen, where Mrs Masters was making an apple-pie for supper."You cut that onion in slices and chop it fine," she said, pointing to an onion and a little board and a knife ready for Priscilla on the table; "and remember that's the onion knife. You'll know it because the blade is worn so short, and you're never to use any other for onions."The kitchen was warm and cosy. Mrs Masters had been by herself for three days, but she had not allowed the work to get behind, or anything to be out of place. She was a most capable, hard-working woman, who found it easier to act than to teach. Still she meant to make Priscilla useful and expected the process to be troublesome."Now wash that knife well and chop some parsley," she said, when the onion was ready."Where is it?" said Priscilla."Never say 'Where is it?' till you've used your eyes," said Mrs Masters at once. "It's a habit I can't endure and won't give in to."So Priscilla used her eyes, found the parsley just behind her on the dresser and had begun to chop it when Harry Masters came in, nodded at her, looked at her curiously, and addressed his mother."I shall want a clean shirt to-night," he said."You've got one," said Mrs Masters; "I ironed it this morning.""Where is it?""Where it ought to be-in your bottom drawer."Harry looked at Priscilla again."You've put up your hair," he said."I don't want you in the kitchen when I'm busy," said his mother sharply. "Have you left work?""No. I'm just off to Windsor Terrace with dad.""Get out then."Harry got out, whistling the last popular tune, and almost winking at Priscilla as he backed through the kitchen door. His mother had a tongue and a temper, but she never disturbed the good-humour of her menfolk. They went their own gait and took her touch of shrewishness for a disability of sex."You'll hear Mr Masters and Harry say 'Where is it?' from morning till night," she said, when her son had gone. "They know it drives me crazy, but they never learn better. That's why I'm not going to let you get into the habit. It's nothing but a bad habit and best left to the men. Now wash up these things we've messed, and then I'll show you how to lay the table for supper."BOOK IICHAPTER VIPRISCILLA was sixteen--the age where womanhood and childhood meet; for in her class they meet a little earlier than with girls kept back in schoolrooms. If she had been gentry she would not have done with lessons yet; as she was the daughter of a poor man she had earned her own living for two years and had worked hard for it. Every Sunday afternoon she had trudged from the centre of Daneswick to Tinker's Green to see her father and mother, but in the two years she had only once spent a week at home, and that had been given her because her mother was ill and needed a nurse. The Days were no better off than before. Sam Day still drove round in his ramshackle donkey cart buying up poultry from the farms; and Mrs Day still sat in the shed and did the plucking--a sorry trade and an unhealthy one. They hardly kept body and soul together on the profits, and Mrs Day was still weak from the pneumonia that had fastened on her in the early spring and nearly killed her. She lived now from Sunday to Sunday looking for Priscilla's visits. Gertie and Lily were still in London running from place to place in search of a She who suited them; and the boys were still silent, perhaps alive, perhaps dead, but anyhow of no use to their family."No trouble neither," said Mrs Day, defending them,

"Better be like Tom and Bert than like that good-for-nothing Bob Spiller as is either livin' on his people or doin' time."For a year ago the notorious Tim Higgins had come out of gaol, had visited the Spillers and had led Bob Spiller into bad ways--if it can be said that a boy as idle and savage as Bob needed any leading. At any rate the two had tried every kind of picking and stealing their ingenious minds could devise, and, as they were not sufficiently ingenious, had been caught and charged and punished. When this happened Priscilla vaguely expected Polly Spiller to feel mortified and wear sackcloth and ashes; but the very Sunday after Bob was locked up his sister came to Tinker's Green in a white muslin dress and a pink sash. With it she wore a white hat and feathers, white shoes and stockings and long white cotton gloves. She came into the garden when she saw Priscilla and talked to her condescendingly over the fence."I suppose you know I'm goin' to London again to-morrow," she said."No, I didn't know," said Priscilla, looking wonderingly at the other girl's costume, at her sly bright black eyes, and at her apple-red cheeks."I thought you'd have 'eard. People 'ereabouts are such gossips and seem to have nothin' to do but pry into their neighbours' affairs. After tryin' London once I find Daneswick isn't good enough."Priscilla had just come home for the afternoon. She wore a plain little serge coat and skirt that she had worn for more than a year, and lately she had outgrown it. She looked what she was: a tidy, quiet, rather shabby girl of the working class, who might be pretty some day when she could spread her wings. Just at present

she was not nearly so pretty as she had been as a child; for Mrs Masters made her plait and hide her hair, she wore clumsy boots, her hands were rough and she moved with the awkwardness of sixteen."I wish I was goin' to London," she said to Polly, "I'm sick of Daneswick.""Well, look in The 'Erald and find yourself a place as I did," encouraged Polly. "It's as easy as anything. There's always a column of ads., wantin' country girls. I'm goin' as cook, where there's only two in family and no washin'. That's the sort of place to get--if you can. Wages eighteen pounds and a rise.""Can you cook? I can't much.""Lor'! what's cookin'? I've seen a lot. You stick a chunk of meat in the oven and take it out again, and if it's wrong you say you've never 'ad such an oven.""But there's pastry and puddins and vegetables.""Vegetables you puts in water and lets them cook theirselves. If they won't they won't--it ain't your fault. Pastry I can make. I like it myself so I learned 'ow.""I can cook as much as that," said Priscilla thoughtfully. "I've learned a lot from Mrs Masters, helpin' her and watching. She's a good cook and so's mother.""Shouldn't have thought she'd ever 'ad much to cook at," said Polly, with a toss of her chin that seemed to tilt her snub nose into the air more than usual."We didn't always live in a hovel on Tinker's Green," exclaimed Priscilla, her temper rising at the other girl's tone. It was the same to-day as it had been four years ago, she reflected. She could not talk to Polly Spiller without feeling ruffled; though it was

Polly whose family was undesirable, and Polly whose brother had just been put in prison, it was Polly who gave herself airs."I'd like to go to London," she said suddenly at tea. Her mother had made her a slice of dripping toast and she had eaten it inattentively."I could see you had some rubbish in your head," said Mrs Day. "London's no place for a girl of your age, with no friends to look after her.""Then why did Lily and Gertie go?""They're years older. Wait another two years and then talk.""I want to better myself," said Priscilla sulkily, "and I want to have my evenings like other girls.""You don't know when you're well off; that's what's the matter with you," said her father; and Mrs Day added that when it came to gadding about the streets at night, Priscilla must know what it was to want.Neither the Days nor Mrs Masters perceived that Priscilla was growing up and that it galled her to be kept in bounds that other girls of her age and class had outstepped long since. She never had any fun. It was work, work, work, from morning till night, and a sharp tongue after her; and for relaxation, the dull weekly walk to Tinker's Green and the recital by her parents of the week's miseries. Until lately she had not looked at life with this jaundiced eye. Though Mrs Masters was sharp, she was just and considerate. The two years of hard, steady work had not hurt Priscilla, because she had always had sufficient food and sleep; and she had learned all the elements of her skilled trade in a good school. There was not a dirty or an untidy corner in Mrs Masters' house, the clothes were

washed and ironed at home, bread was baked, jams were made, there was plenty and no waste. For two years Priscilla had worked and watched and learned; often scolded, sometimes praised, always treated with some regard as the child of friends rather than as the hired girl. She ate with the family. For a year and a half she had been happy, although she worked every day till her bones ached. Mr Masters and Harry both liked her and were kind to her. She did not mind how much she ached when they wanted anything done. At least she did not mind as long as they came home every evening and had no interests outside except their work. But when Harry began to accept invitations and be made much of by people of some consequence in Daneswick, by Mrs Morton, the chief grocer's wife, for instance, Priscilla felt hurt and jealous. Julia Morton had been to a boarding school and could play the piano. She did nothing all day and wore her hair in the latest fashion. She was eighteen and gave herself airs. When she came to supper with the Masters, Priscilla was told that she could not sit at table that night, but must wait on the party and clear away, as Mrs Morton's girl did. She had to wear a black frock and a cap and apron, while Miss Morton arrived in a flowered muslin cut in Empire style, very chaste and elegant. She sat next to Harry at supper and made eyes at him. Priscilla hated her, especially when she laughed because a heavy dish was more than Priscilla could manage, and arrived on the table with a heavy thump. Harry laughed too, and his mother rebuked Priscilla for her clumsiness. That evening began the winter of Priscilla's discontent. Miss Morton took to paying frequent visits, and the little slave girl suffered as the sea-maid did, for she

had to watch Harry's courtship and be dumb. It was an unripe childish tragedy without rhyme or reason. Harry had long ago been kind to her, had mended the stairs for her, had given her the sugary buns. For two years she had lived in his home, serving him and growing attached to him. His bright eyes always twinkled at her kindly; he and she had little homely jokes together: once when he tore a good coat badly she sat up half the night and mended it so carefully for him that his mother, who would have scolded, never knew. Now, though he was still kind, he was indifferent and inattentive. One day, in Priscilla's hearing, Mrs Masters asked her husband when he meant to take his son into partnership, and Mr Masters said he supposed he'd do it directly Harry married."They'd never consent unless," said Mrs Masters. "It 'ud be a better marriage than we've any right to expect--an only child and a tidy bit o' money."Mr Masters admitted that the boy might do worse if he must marry, but didn't see what he wanted to for, at his age."Why can't he wait a bit?" he grumbled. "When you and me married, I was thirty, and young enough too."Next day, of her own accord, Priscilla gave notice. It was the first time she had spoken the fateful words and her heart quaked."You wish to leave this day month," echoed Mrs Masters, taken by surprise. "What for?""I'm going to London," said Priscilla, making up her mind on the spur of the moment."Where to?""To a place.""Who got it for you?""No--one--not yet. I see them every week in The Herald. Polly Spiller got hers that way.""Polly Spiller!!!"Mrs Masters knew all about the Spillers as a family and more about Polly as a minx than Priscilla did."I think your mother might have let me know herself if she wants you to have a change--instead of springing it on me like this just when the jam's coming on," she complained."Mother doesn't know," said Priscilla. "We can make all the jam you want this month.""Do you mean to say you've taken on yourself to give me notice without so much as asking your mother's leave?""I'm old enough to please myself," said Priscilla."If I were your mother I'd soon learn you better than that," said Mrs Masters. "But you can go. Once a girl gets it into her head to go, I'd never hold a finger up to keep her; and as for gratitude, I don't expect it.""What have I got to be grateful about?" asked Priscilla, when she told the story at home. "Haven't I been up early and to bed late, working like twenty thousand niggers and gettin' six pounds a year and no evenin' out.""You've learned things, and you've been kep' all this time," said Mrs Day. "Wait till you get yourself a bad place, then you'll know you've thrown up a good one.""I can't learn much over a shop," said Priscilla. "I want to live amongst the gentry same as you did, mother.""It isn't all milk and honey when you do," said

Mrs Day, but she did not try to keep Priscilla in her present place or even forbid her to go to London. The poor woman was so broken and battered by misfortune that her strength had gone; and with her strength her self-reliance and courage. She looked on at the young life and let it take its own way, possibly to better luck and wider pastures. She could not remember what she had felt like herself at sixteen, but she knew that she had been free of her home at that age and keeping herself honourably. Six pounds a year was not enough for Priscilla to be earning now, and Mrs Masters had not offered a rise. Besides, there were the evenings out that the girl had wanted lately, and not been allowed to have; and there was this Julia Morton always about the house now, making herself at home, before she had any right to. Mrs Day could put two and two together, though she was old and poor and crippled with the rheumatism. Priscilla used to arrive on a Sunday afternoon brimming over with good health and spirits, full of the week's doings; full of chat about the Masters' family, ready above all to talk of Harry. Mrs Day knew as much about Harry as if he had lived in her house, knew how he liked his bacon cooked and his shirts ironed, knew where he wore holes in his socks and how much sugar he wanted in his tea; knew also that for two years he had been invariably kind to Priscilla, saving her sometimes from his mother's sharp tongue, treating her more like a sister than a slave. Priscilla's eyes used to glow when she talked of him. Then suddenly she ceased to talk of him, grew discontented and restless, wanted evenings out again and hated Julia Morton with a great hatred. Mrs Day would have been more dense than a mother can be if she had not put two and

two together, but she did not take Priscilla's trouble seriously. At sixteen you love and lose without any mortal danger.But Harry was distressed when he heard that Priscilla meant to leave them. To be sure he was madly in love with the brilliant and accomplished Julia, who could sing and play and even speak a little French. He went down any number of back streets to his work now rather than pass Morton's shop and let her see him from her first-floor window in his working clothes; and every evening when he came back from work he had a bath and put on his Sunday suit and a clean shirt. "The work the boy makes!" exclaimed Mrs Masters, but she egged on his wooing and thanked her stars the boy went where money was. At one time she had surprised him making sheep's eyes at Priscilla and had nearly sent the girl flying; for that would never do, she had said to her husband. However, just as she got anxious, Harry went to the Daneswick New Year Subscription Ball and met Julia Morton. No more sheep's eyes for poor Priscilla after that, and no more anxiety for Mrs Masters. Julia had looked like an angel, in pink ninon over pink silk.But although Harry's conscience was in a sense clear, in another sense it was not clear. He had never said a word to Priscilla that she could bring up against him, but they had lived under the same roof for two years and been great pals, there had been little jokes and there had been glances, ready service on her part and protective kindness on his. Why could it not go on, he wondered. Why should she go?"I call it a rotten idea," he said.For a wonder they were by themselves in the kitchen.

He had come to say something to his mother and found Priscilla there alone. She was dressed for the evening in her black frock and white cap and apron, and she sat by the window sewing. The young pure lines of her face were touched by sadness, and so were her wide grey eyes. But she kept her eyes on her needle."I want to better myself," said Priscilla."There's no need to go to London to do that, though.""There's no good places in Daneswick.""Just as good as anywhere else. Look here!" He hesitated. Priscilla went on with her sewing. "Suppose I was to get married!" he began again, stoutly.Priscilla did not help him. She was patching a pillowslip, and put it on the table now to manipulate the troublesome corners."I may get married this year," the blunderer went on. "If I do, I shall have a house of my own.""You're not engaged yet, are you?" said Priscilla, her heart going flip-flop so that she felt rather sick and fluttered."As good as.""I'm sure I wish you every happiness. Is it Miss Morton?""Whoever it is we shall want a house and someone to do for us, and I'd rather have you than anyone."Priscilla wished to say a thousand things and could not think of one. The rush of anger and misery that flooded her silly young mind seemed to swallow her power of speech. She sat there dumbly, stroking her patch with her needle, longing to get up and run away."It would be a ripping plan. Think it over," urged Harry."I've thought it over," said Priscilla, in a moment.

She pushed back her chair, got up and faced him. Her eyes were blazing with anger, and showed him that in his own vernacular he had jolly well made a mess of it."I say--" he began."You and Julia Morton may get your skivvy where you like--you won't get me!" exclaimed Priscilla, and fled into her own little room."Well, I'm blessed!" cried Harry, staring after her, and it made him very uncomfortable to see at tea-time, when she had to return to her duties, that her eyes were red with tears. He had meant well.CHAPTER VIITHE arrival at a London terminus was bewildering; but Priscilla kept her head. She engaged one of the porters running beside the train, told him she had a trunk and that she wanted to get to Surbham. He glanced at a big clock, told her she had ten minutes to do it in, ran her through to a distant platform, shoved in her trunk, and thanked her for the twopence she had ready. She had never been in a train before to-day, but her mother had told her what to expect, and as far as possible what to do. Priscilla had left Tinker's Green this morning, saddened by the parting from her parents, and now she was arriving at Surbham, a grownup, independent girl, who had engaged as general in a family of two and was going to have evenings out. In between there had been a two-hours' journey and a friendly family who had given her oranges and biscuits and told her what to look at from the carriage windows. When she left them she began to feel rather desolate, and to wonder what lay before her with the family of two. The lady's letters had not told her much, but the paper on which they were written bore the address of a bank. Even that did not convey information, for what did Priscilla know of small banks and their still smaller suburban branches? But when she got to Surbham, she asked how far the bank was from the station and was relieved to find it close by at the corner of Surbham High Street. An out-porter trundled her trunk across for her and showed her where to ring the bronze bell.

He was a chatty man with a red nose, and he asked her if she had come to stay, and when he might hope to see her again. Priscilla was not used to forming friendships so suddenly, and hardly knew what to answer. Before she spoke the door was opened by a figure that instantly filled her with dismay, the figure of a big brawny woman, with signs of coarseness and ill-temper on her face. She had a swarthy skin, beady eyes, black hair, and the clothes of a sloven who apes the fashion and has a conceit of herself. She stared at the little figure of Priscilla as the ogre in the fairy tale stares at the victim whose bones it means to crunch, and told her to give a hand upstairs with her trunk."If you'd told me how small you were I shouldn't have engaged you," she said, when the porter had gone and she stood with Priscilla in the attic that was the servant's bedroom. The only window was a small one in the roof, and all Priscilla would have to look at up here was a grimy, brownish wall-paper peeling in large patches from the walls. There was no carpet, the ewer was cracked and broken, and the coloured coverlet on the bedstead looked as if generations of generals had been too lazy to wash it."I'm used to work," said Priscilla, her spirits at the lowest ebb. "There was a lot to do in my last place.""They all say that," said Mrs Stoker. "I seem to get them when they want a holiday. Take off your things and come along down. There's plenty to do."There was indeed, Priscilla found, and she was up till midnight doing it. In houses of the better-class servants do not expect to start work the night of their arrival. The rigid etiquette of life below stairs forbids it. But Priscilla had not alighted in a house of the better kind, or indeed in a house as sober, well-managed

and comfortable as the plain working one she had left. When she went into the kitchen she found that it was a cubby hole with one window darkened by a blank wall. The floor was bare and very dirty. The table was heaped up with refuse food and unwashed pans and crockery, the fire was out, the gas was half on and escaping, the air reeked of gas and recently cooked greens. Mrs Stoker sat on the only unbroken chair drinking stout from a bottle she had opened by knocking off the head."Get a move on you," she called out the moment Priscilla appeared. "There are all these things to clean and your master's supper to cook. If he doesn't find it ready for him when he comes home he'll swear the house down."Priscilla said nothing. If the house had been in Daneswick she would have borne the night and left next morning; but the house was in a crowded London suburb, and wretched as it seemed to be, it gave her shelter. She had only a shilling in her pocket, and her fare was not to be returned unless she stayed three months. Her life in service with strangers had begun badly, but she knew that there must be ups and downs in a life that was a pilgrimage. She felt desolate and homesick, but Gertie and Lily had both said they felt like that for a day or two in a new place. Anyhow, there was nothing to be done to-night. In the methodical way Mrs Masters had taught her, she began to sort the jumble of things on the table, scraping plates, sorting the knives from the forks and spoons, taking pans to the scullery sink. Mrs Stoker watched her with growing impatience and dislike."Here, give it to me," she said suddenly, snatching a saucepan from Priscilla's hands. "It gives me the

creeps to watch you. You've got to fly round here or you'll hear words. This pan's all right. Put it up on the shelf and be quick and wash up. No, light the fire first. The wood's in that cupboard."Priscilla opened the cupboard close to the stove and saw a jumble of wood and paper in the lower part of it. She knelt down to get what she wanted, but started to her feet again with a cry of horror; for as she pulled the wood and paper towards her, a swarm of black-beetles came too. The cupboard seemed to be alive with them."What's the matter now?" cried Mrs Stoker. "Black-beetles? Of course there are black-beetles. I never saw a kitchen with so many in my life. They're all over the food if you're not careful. It's no use standing there as if you were moonstruck. The wood and paper's in that cupboard and you've got to get it."When Priscilla went to bed that night she dreamed of black-beetles, and of a heavy-jowled, swarthy woman who drank stout and shouted at her, and of a big, coarse looking man who came home drunk and shouted at his wife. "Two in family, light work and a quiet home" the advertisement had said, and she had spent her last shilling but one to come to it, and was in it as a mouse is in a trap. She could not leave at once unless she paid a month's wages, and she could no more get hold of one pound than of a hundred. At least she knew that her parents were powerless to help her, and she thought she would endure anything rather than confess her plight to Mrs Masters or her sisters. Giving up a place with a Daneswick tradesman for a place in a London bank sounded like getting on in the world, and she wanted Harry and Julia Morton to think she was getting on. As for Gertie and Lily, she was afraid they would

mock at her and interfere, call her a kid and send her back to Daneswick. Though Priscilla was so homesick that she cried herself to sleep, she did not want to go back to Daneswick; and she was determined not to be a kid any longer.The alarm clock, set at six, woke her long before she had slept off the fatigue of the day before. As she I dressed by candlelight, she could hardly believe that yesterday she had been at Tinker's Green, awake early with excitement and stealing down before her mother woke to get the fire alight and breakfast ready in the cottage room that was so much cleaner and pleasanter than the terrible beetle-ridden bank kitchen. When she opened the door of it this morning, the floor, like the cupboard yesterday, seemed to be alive, and she stood on the threshold with her candle, waiting for the light to frighten them away."There's a fortnight's wash waiting," she had been warned last night; "mind you're down early and begin."Priscilla had not engaged to do washing and ventured to say so; but though she spoke civilly and modestly she infuriated Mrs Stoker. She had been engaged to do the work, and washing was part of it. Did she suppose she had come there to live in idleness? She ought to have mentioned in her letters what a puny, pale-faced little creature she was with wrists no bigger than a child's. Fine washing it would be, no doubt. But it had got to be done if Priscilla sat up half the night to do it. People who took situations and then refused to work could be turned off without pay. The law allowed it, and if Priscilla gave Mrs Stoker any more of her nonsense she would find herself in the streets.A penniless English girl threatened with the streets of Bucharest or Constantinople would not feel more

helpless and homeless than Priscilla did at first in London. The front rooms looked on a crowded street, and though the crowds were fascinating, every face was strange. To be thrust amongst them with one shilling in her pocket would probably involve an appeal to the police and a forced journey from the police station to the workhouse. Priscilla stood all day at the washtub faint with weakness, broken-backed and miserable, but she kept on. When meal-times came she was too tired to eat the untempting scraps left for her. By night she was dizzy with exhaustion and too worn out to resent Mrs Stoker's fault-finding. She was used to work, but she had never worked like this, nagged at and driven, though she was doing her best. She thought of the Israelites making bricks under the lash of Pharaoh's overseers, and of the black men in "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Mrs Stoker could not whip her because this is a free country; but even in a free country poverty enslaves. The kitchen was full of steam and soapy fumes. The wet clothes lay about in piles or dripped from a rope slung across the kitchen. There were puddles on the floor, and Priscilla herself was wet to the skin. Poor little drudge of sixteen, homeless, ignorant, country bred, wanting like the rest of us to be happy, wanting at anyrate some decent measure of physical well-being, willing enough to work hard for it, but finding herself in such a galley on her first voyage into the unknown. She might have lighted on kindly, considerate people who do not regard a hireling as a machine they may work to breaking-point without compunction. It was bad luck that took her to a household where both man and wife were coarse-grained, quarrelsome and incredibly mean. All the week Priscilla was starved, scolded and hustled through a

working day eighteen hours long; for she never got to bed till midnight, and had to be up at six; but after her first Sunday in London she dreaded most of all her day of rest. In Daneswick she had thought herself hardly used because she had no evening out like other girls of her age; but she had not foreseen what it would mean to be turned out into the London streets every week for seven hours having no food, and no shelter. Mr and Mrs Stoker locked up the house on Sunday afternoons and spent the rest of the day with relations. They told Priscilla that if she returned before eleven she would have to wait on the doorstep, for they would not trust her with a key to let herself in. On the first Sunday she started in good spirits for a walk in London, rather frightened, but determined to see. It was disappointing in one way, because all the interesting shops were closed, but for more than an hour she felt proud and pleased to be in London instead of Daneswick. Then she began to want her tea and feel lonely. She still had only a shilling in her pocket, for she had been paid no wages yet, but when she passed a small eating-house with raw chops and tomatoes in the window, she went in and asked if they would give her tea and bread and butter and what it would cost. She was determined to be circumspect in her dealings with London folk--not to be overcharged because she was young and countrified. She got her tea for sixpence, and then in a quiet street she saw a stream of people going to church and went with them. That wiled away nearly two hours and rested her, but when she came out of church she did not know what to do next. She was not an hour's walk from home, and she had more than two hours to get through before eleven, hours, too, when the streets were becoming unpleasant for a young, solitary girl walking

slowly because she was tired. Men stared at her, some spoke, and one followed, walking by her side and trying to make her answer him. Her heart beat with fright when this happened, and to escape him she got into a bus standing half-full at a street corner. He did not follow, and she sat still for some time with no idea of her direction. When the bus stopped at a crowded station she got down and asked the first policeman who could attend to her, how to get back to the bank. He told her she was miles away and that she had better take a train. But she walked the miles and yet arrived bone-tired at a closed door and a dark house. So she went across the road and sat down inside the lighted station. She hoped the porter with the red nose would not see her, but he did very soon and entered into conversation. He asked her how she was getting on, and where she had spent her Sunday. Then he said that next Sunday he would have a few hours off and that if Priscilla would meet him he would take her to one of the parks where there would be a band and a crowd."Thank you very much," said Priscilla, "but I shall stay in next Sunday.""Sunday week then--if I can arrange it?""On Sunday week I shall probably go and see one of my sisters," said Priscilla. She did not wish to make the man her enemy, but she did not take to him and she did not intend to "walk out" with him although she was so lonely. She knew that a girl must be careful about walking out, if she wants to avoid disagreeable complications. But the red-nosed porter was affronted and showed it. He gave a little snort, muttered something about Stokerses and skivvies and turned on his heel. Next time Priscilla and he met, he pretended not to know her.At eleven a train arrived and Priscilla saw Mr and Mrs Stoker descend from it, both what she had heard her mother call "lit up." Mr Spiller was often lit up, but compared with the Stokers Priscilla, looking back; called him agreeable. She fled across the road ahead of them and was waiting at the front door when they arrived, both in a bad temper. Mr Stoker could not fit his key in the latch for a long time; but when Priscilla offered to do it for him he swore at her."Get our supper ready and be quick about it, and then get off to bed," commanded Mrs Stoker.Priscilla was not surprised that they wanted supper at this time of night, and that they were going to drink more although they had drunk too much already. Nothing surprised her that was disorderly and excessive in this household, now that she had spent a week there. The beetles scuttled across the floor as she entered the close, evil-smelling kitchen, the gas flickered without a glove above the stained and crumpled cloth left on the table. She put out bread, cheese, butter and the whisky, while Mr and Mrs Stoker wrangled loudly about some pence Mr Stoker had been obliged to pay because they had been found in a first-class carriage with third-class tickets. They were still wrangling when Priscilla went to bed with a little stolen chunk of bread and cheese in her pocket. It seemed nearly morning when she was waked out of a heavy sleep by their voices quarrelling on the stairs. Then the house was still for a few hours and the beetles scuttled unvexed and undisturbed across the kitchen floor.On the following Sunday Priscilla said she would rather not go out."You can stay in if you like, but you'll get nothing

to eat," said Mrs Stoker. "I shall lock the larder and the coal-cellar too. I'm not going to feed you when you're idle, or keep fires in for you either. You ain't worth it.""If you'll pay me my fortnight's wages I'll buy myself something to eat," said Priscilla."You'll be paid at the month and not a day before," said Mrs Stoker, who never had ready money and delayed every payment she could.CHAPTER VIIIPEOPLE who are used to mature, well-paid, latter-day servants will wonder why Priscilla did not leave at her month, as servants say. But people must consider that Priscilla at sixteen was childishly ignorant of the world, had no friends in London, was penniless, and by nature spirited yet timid. Her sisters were somewhere near London, but she did not know what length of journey separated them from her; and as they were both in situations she could not visit them without arrangements. She was not intimate with either of them. However, when she had been with the Stokers three months, she did write to Gertie and beg her to come and see her on the following Sunday; and as Gertie had nothing better to do, she went, finding her way easily, but taking a long time to get to a suburb she would not have condescended to live in herself. When she got to the station she asked the red-nosed porter the way to the bank."It's just across the road," he said; "but you won't find the people at home.""I don't want to find them," said Gertie, who was a smart, prosperous-looking girl with all her money on her back when she went out on Sundays."The skivvy's there, that's all," said the porter. "I wonder she isn't afraid to be left days together. The bank might be burgled any night and where'd she be then?""Not knowin' can't say," answered Gertie tartly. She was not afraid of a cliché and she felt annoyed with the porter because he talked of her sister as a skivvy. She walked across the road with a touch of extra dignity in her carriage, held her tweed skirt so as to show the edge of a rose-coloured petticoat and, when she had rung the bell, stared down the street instead of at the porter, who loitered on the opposite pavement watching her. When the door opened and Priscilla appeared, looking like a skivvy, her cap awry, her frock draggled, her face haggard and smutty, Gertie lost her temper."You little slattern," she said by way of a greeting. "How dare you come to the door like that? I'm ashamed to be seen speaking to you."Priscilla did not fire up at this rough reproof as she would have done if she had been in a normal state of mind. She shut the door and in a spiritless way said:"I'm alone.""Then you ought to have time to clean yourself," said Gertie. She did not like the look of the place so far. The varnished marble paper was peeling untidily from the skirting boards of the narrow passage that led to the manager's rooms from one side of the bank; the staircase leading up to them was not carpeted and looked dirty; the air was close and smelt dirty."And time to clean the hall and stairs too," she went on severely. She was a parlourmaid now, but she had been a housemaid, and whatever work she took in hand she did well.Priscilla began to cry and Gertie began to feel uneasy. The elder sisters both thought the younger one spoilt and airified. When they had seen her last she had been a sheltered, pretty child, doing well at

school, helping with light jobs at home, but not knowing yet what it meant to work."Whatever's the matter?" she asked, as she followed Priscilla upstairs; but when she saw the small dark kitchen without a fire on this winter day, and without any of the plain, comfortable chairs or shining tins and brasses that a kitchen should have, she began to understand."Why on earth isn't the fire alight at this time of day?" she asked."There's no coal," said Priscilla. "They lock the cellar.""No coal! How do you cook?""I don't. They left a bone and a loaf of bread and the milkman brings me half-a-pint of milk every morning.""Do you mean to say you can't make yourself a cup o' tea?""I been trying to get a few bits out underneath the cellar door--with a stick," said Priscilla. "That's where I got so black; but I've enough to boil a small kettle if we're careful. I ran out yesterday and bought a pinch of tea and sugar and a pound of sausages. I hoped you'd come, but I thought you'd get here later. I was just goin' to dress myself.""You seem to have struck a jolly rotten place," said Gertie. "Why don't you leave?""She'd never speak for me, she says so--and then where would I be? But I'll have to leave if they take to going away every week-end. I'm that frightened of nights--I can't sleep a wink, and I keep jumping at the noises--you wouldn't think there could be such noises in an empty house--and I'm afeared of being murdered. You remember that

old man who was murdered in a bank because he tried to protect the safe--they bashed in his head, they did--and I see it, and I can't get to sleep.""Priscilla stopped because the effort of telling her story seemed to affect her throat and her breathing. She was on the verge of a breakdown, though she did not know it, but only knew that her fears and her unhappiness were more than she could bear. Even to see her sister and unbosom herself was so great a relief that she felt light-headed for the moment, overexcited and yet on the verge of tears."I've not told them at home," she said soon. "They think I'm all right.""Wouldn't Mrs Masters speak for you again?""P'r'aps she would. I wrote once and said I was gettin' on well. I wouldn't like them to know I was here. It's awful here. They both drink, and they shout at me and they quarrel, and I can't get my wages regular neither. They owe me a pound and I've only a shilling left from when they paid me last."Gertie had taken off her veil and coat and gloves and after dusting a corner of the dresser had laid them there. The princess in the swineherd's hut couldn't have looked more scornful of her surroundings."You go and clean yourself," she said to Priscilla. "I'm not going to sit down with you in that state. It's a pity mother can't see you.""Sha'n't I light the fire first? I've laid it all ready.""Give me an apron and some matches and I'll do it.""You needn't have dusted the dresser," said Priscilla, speaking like herself for the first time. "I cleaned up this morning because you were coming, but you couldn't make this kitchen look nice if you cleaned day and night. Everything in it is broken and ragged."Nevertheless, when she came down again dressed in her blue serge going-out skirt and a white blouse, the kitchen looked as much improved as she did herself. It was a dark January afternoon, so Gertie had drawn the blind and lighted the gas. The fire was burning, the kettle singing and the sausages fizzling in the pan. Two cracked cups and saucers, a teapot with a chip in the spout and some infirm knives and forks were on a clean coarse cloth, and Gertie was mixing mustard in a teacup."I say!" cried Priscilla. "You've taken the clean cloth.""I could only see two and the other was filthy," said Gertie."We must be very careful then or they'll guess I've used it.""Let 'em guess. You're going to give notice.""Am I?"They argued the matter while they ate the sausages and drank their tea. The warm, comfortable meal, the blazing fire and her sister's company acted on Priscilla like champagne. She saw life more steadily and looked beyond her present cage at a place such as Gertie had where She was particular but kind, and where Gertie would be very comfortable if the present lady's-maid, who was a mischief-maker, could be got away.Gertie advised her to try for a place as second or third housemaid in a large house. She would learn a lot that way and see how things were done. Gertie was now getting twenty-eight pounds as parlourmaid in a house where five servants were kept, as after a recent experience she did not care about very large households. The upper servants were inclined to be

disagreeable and the lower ones were often a rabble, and she hated housekeepers. A real lady made the best mistress; but many ladies were not ladies, and you couldn't be too careful. Priscilla must give notice to-morrow, and then write to Mrs Masters for a character and to Mrs Hunt's Registry Office for a place. Or she might write to Mrs Masters first and wait for her answer. She would be in a stronger position if she knew she could get a character there, and need ask nothing of these people. Gertie thought that as they owed Priscilla money, she might leave at any moment, but she was not sure. She would consult Reggy on the subject."Who is Reggy?" asked Priscilla."I'm walking out with him at present," said Gertie. "He thinks I'm at Wisdale to-day. I was to have gone Friday and then our arrangements were upset. I'm off there to-morrow for a fortnight. We've shooting there and a shooting-box, you know."Priscilla didn't know. She had never known as much about Gertie and Lily as she did after sitting with Gertie for five hours in the Stokers' kitchen and talking of home, of service and of life in London as the girl in service sees it. Lily, it seemed, was walking out too, with someone called Willy Andrews, but Gertie did not approve of Lily's goings-on. She had too many strings to her bow, for besides Willy there were others, several others, and good never came of that. Priscilla was young yet to think of these things, but she was out in the world now, and would find that to walk with a respectable young man was a pleasure and a protection."You can always say from the first that it may never come to anything," instructed Gertie; "but what are

us girls to do? Either we are mewed up like nuns; from one week's end to another, or we take our free time and are pestered in the streets--unless of course we've friends to go to. But a girl in service doesn't make many friends."Service had its sunny and its seamy side in Gertie's opinion. For a few years it wasn't a bad way of earning your living, if earn it you must. Its reputation was far worse than its reality, for, if you made yourself worth having, you could pick and choose your place. The real disadvantage was the social stigma attached to skivvies as a class. It affected a girl's matrimonial chances seriously. Men looked down on girls in service, however pretty and well mannered the girls were. They had no chance against shop-girls, although they were often just as well educated and born in the same class. Once at a dance in the country an eligible young man had fallen in love with Gertie like a flash of lightning, but when he found out that she was a parlourmaid, he had cooled off at once. He had married a farmer's daughter who couldn't dress for nuts and couldn't spell either. The farm supplied the shooting-box with milk and eggs, so Gertie had seen the milk bills and knew.The time passed so quickly that when nine o'clock came and Gertie said she must go Priscilla could hardly believe it. While the sisters talked the younger one had felt encouraged to look beyond the present and see a happy escape from it. But when the lonely night threatened her again, and the ordeal of giving notice and the long month of service under notice in such a house as this, Priscilla found that her courage fled away. Her physical stamina was at a low ebb and reacted on her spirits, for in a general way she had grit. But this very

night the lights would be out, the noises would begin; she would shiver and listen again."Things do happen," she said wistfully. "You can't take up a paper without seeing they do--every day--every night--awful things--that no one ever finds out.""What papers have you been reading?" asked Gertie."Mrs Stoker takes The Police News and I see bits of it. I try not to look and not to read, but it's somethin' to do the hours I'm alone.""You'd a deal better take Home Notes or something o' that kind and make yourself a blouse. Things do happen and yet they don't. What I mean to say is, they don't as much as you think. You must take the chances, and they're small as long as you keep yourself straight and not get into any silly affairs with chaps. I think Lily goes too far now. If she don't take care, one of her fellows will point a gun at her one of these fine days."Gertie chattered, but she reflected too, and after a moment of silent communing with herself she took off her coat and sat down again."I'll risk it," she said; "I never done such a thing before, but I'll risk it.""Will you stay a bit later?" asked Priscilla, overjoyed."I'll stay all night. There's no one in the house at present but cook and me, and cook'll never know I'm not in till the morning. She goes to bed early and sleeps like a log, and we're pals. She'll pass it over when I tell her how scared you were."Priscilla could not make difficulties and suggest that if by bad luck the cook was not sleeping like a log she

would be alarmed and angry. Cook must take her chance: a fat and comfortable body no doubt, in a fat, comfortable house where you had no hard words and not much hard work by all accounts. The fatness and comfort of life had entered with Gertie into that horrible kitchen and for hours now had cheered Priscilla. With her sister had come glimpses of prosperity, talk of homely things, fearlessness, and even pleasure. Last Saturday week she had actually been to a theatre with Reggy and seen The Crimes of London. There had been one scene that reminded Gertie of this kitchen. "The heroine sat there alone. . . lovely she looked in white embroidered muslin and her golden hair done in one of those new curled chignons. . . not a skivvy then. . . yes, a skivvy for the moment, but really the niece and heiress of Sir Algernon Mountferrers, Bart. . . and as she sat there waiting for her lover, the murderer, lured by the villain, appeared at the window, and after gnashing his teeth at her, smashed the glass and jumped in. . . that was a great scene because after the murder he set the whole place on fire Good sakes, kiddie. . . don't claw hold of me like that. . . what's the matter? . . . saw something at the window! . . . well you are. . . I won't tell you about no more theatres if you're so silly. . . there's no one at this window and you're not an heiress any villain wants out of the way. . . neither am I as I'm aware of. . . we're real life you and me. . . girls with a livin' to earn and a chap to marry when the time comes. . . see; kiddie? . . . you'll soon be out of this. . . .""Was she really murdered though?" asked Priscilla; still interested in the fate of the curled chignon. She was glad to hear that although the heroine's apparently dead body had been cast into the flames by the villain,

the hero had plunged into the fire himself and brought it forth unsinged."How they manage it I don't know," said Gertie, "but her embroidered muslin looked as white as ever."Gertie talked Priscilla to sleep that night, for she was a girl with a tongue as long as an ant-eater's; a good-humoured, wholesome-minded girl, who probably saved Priscilla from a bad breakdown by arriving when she did. Unfortunately she went off next morning without leaving her country address, and she had told Priscilla that for a few days the London house would be empty and locked up. It was risky, but for a few days they were going to take the risk."Now mind you give notice the moment they come back," she said, as she kissed Priscilla good-bye.Priscilla promised, and spent the early morning screwing up her courage. Then just before the bank had to open she heard Mr Stoker's key in the latch, and presently the steps of both man and wife on the stairs. The moment they entered the kitchen she saw that he was in a fury and that she was the object of it, and his look and threatening manner so alarmed her that she stood there waiting silently for what he had to say."You pack your trunk and clear out this minute," he shouted at her.Priscilla was so taken by surprise that she stared and did not answer."You hear!" said Mrs Stoker, who was just behind him, and apparently as angry as he was."I shall want the pound you owe me and a month's wages then," said Priscilla, finding courage in despair.They both began to shout at her at once and to threaten her with the police."You've had someone here all night. It's no use trying to he about it.""I don't want to lie," said Priscilla indignantly, "my sister came to see me and stayed because I was afraid. I was going to give my notice anyway. I don't want to stay a minute more than I can help.""You'll go in an hour," said the man, "and if you say another word about money you'll go with a policeman. Your orders were to have no visitors while we were out. The rules of the bank forbid it. You've broken the rules and could be sent to prison.""You had better go quietly while you can," said Mrs Stoker; "if anything was missing or tampered with downstairs and it came out what you had done--""It might be seven years, and serve you right too," said Mr Stoker savagely. "Get along and pack your trunk, and be thankful we don't detain it as compensation. It'd serve you right to be chucked out in the things you stand up in."CHAPTER IXPRISCILLA had one shilling in her possession, and did not know where to get more. She knew she was being cheated by the Stokers, but she did not know what power she could invoke against them. She was afraid to go to the police because she had done wrong to admit a visitor when the bank manager and his wife were away. It was no use to go to Gertie's town address, because Gertie was in the country by this time, and the house locked up. Priscilla had packed her trunk in a jiffy and bumped it down the private staircase as softly as she could, glad to get it out of the house, glad to escape herself into the air and sunshine. The world was before her as she stood on the pavement, and though she only had a shilling in her pocket her spirits rose. The Stokers at anyrate were behind, as a hateful dream is when you wake to the wholesome day."Want a hand with your trunk, miss?"A porter had crossed the road from the station to help her, and she was glad to see that it was not the red-nosed one. This one had a pleasant, friendly face."Is there a registry office near here?" she asked him. He said he thought there was one someway down, but he'd never taken much notice. He supposed that as she came out of the house with her trunk she was going by train. Priscilla said she might or might not be going by train later in the day. Meanwhile, had he any suggestion to make about her trunk? Certainly

she had heard of cloakrooms, but doubted whether a station of this size would run to one. Twopence gone out of her shilling and another twopence offered to the porter but refused. Tenpence now between her and real adventure. She supposed that if she was homeless at night she would have to go to a police station, and she had no idea what reception she would meet there. But she would not look so far as the end of the day. Here was the registry office, a small fancy shop with rows of places described in plain writing outside. She read every one before she went in. A sensible, businesslike woman was at the counter and received her."A place before night and no character from your last one," she said doubtfully. "You don't look that kind.""I'm not that kind," said Priscilla, and told her story, beginning with the vicarage and dwelling on her two years with Mrs Masters. She was talking to a woman with a shrewd judgment and the Stokers were notorious in the neighbourhood."They get hold of respectable country girls and treat 'em shameful," she said to Priscilla, handing two addresses. "Some day they'll get dropped on. I believe you could get a summons against them for your wages if you went to the trouble."Priscilla thanked the woman and went off hopefully to Louisa Terrace, where five in family wanted a general and offered twelve pounds for her services. She had asked for a place as under-servant in a house where several were kept, but found there were none to be had at that office. She did not mind. If only she could get a roof to her head she would communicate with Gertie, and soon make a better start. Here was Louisa Terrace, a row of genteel houses with cellar kitchens and a high flight of steps to each front door."And me with all these steps to clean of a cold morning," said Priscilla, trying to peer into the gloomy kitchen as she mounted them. But she was soon out of that trouble, for a vinegar-faced woman who opened the door looked her up and down, said "Suited," and shut the door again before Priscilla had time to speak. So she went on to Boadicea Road, rather damped in her spirits. She was very hungry by this time, and the spectre of night and homelessness tried to frighten her again. But she would not let herself be badly frightened yet. Here was Boadicea Road, and it looked cheap but cheerful. Here was No. 7; and when Priscilla knocked a fat, good-humoured-looking woman opened the door. She seemed to take Priscilla's measure in a moment and she did not ask her to come in."I told Mrs Johns yesterday that I wanted a strong one," she said. "You'll never do, my dear."Priscilla liked the look of the woman, and she liked being called my dear. It was not what Gertie would approve in any way, but Gertie's ideals must wait."I'm used to work, m'm," she said. There was an anxious, hungry look in her eyes that struck Mrs Hayden forcibly."Livin' at home?" she asked, guessing at an unemployed father and want of food. Standing there on the doorstep Priscilla told the main facts of her story, and found herself believed."But we're thirteen in family. You could never do it," said Mrs Hayden. "Thirteen to wash-up for, thirteen pairs of boots every mornin'.""I s'pose they're not all big boots," said Priscilla, with a flying thought back to her first morning at the Vicarage. She had learned a deal about work since then, she said to herself.Mrs Hayden laughed and stood back from the door to let Priscilla pass in."They're all sorts and sizes," she said, "and how I manage to keep them tidy is a mystery. Eleven children all alive and kickin'. I'm proud of it in a way, but they don't give you no time to sit down.""I'm one of ten," said Priscilla, "but five of us died.""Ah!" said Mrs Hayden, liking the quiet way and the pretty face of this girl, but still doubting her strength. "Come in," she said suddenly; "it won't hurt either of us to talk it over. Most girls never get beyond the doorstep. I say 'thirteen in family' at once, to save trouble, and they give a gasp or turn up their noses and fly. When could you come?""I could stay now," said Priscilla, wishing that Mrs Hayden would let her. Something hot and tasty was being cooked for dinner, and her mouth watered for it. But it was not dinner-time yet."Hungry?" said Mrs Hayden, looking keenly at the girl's starved face.She went to a cupboard, took out a tin and gave Priscilla a large stale bun. The girl ate ravenously while Mrs Hayden attended to her pans on the fire. Then she sat down and asked the usual questions about Priscilla's places and her reasons for leaving. When she found that Mrs Johns knew the Stokers and agreed with Priscilla about them, and that in Daneswick the wife of a flourishing tradesman was ready to give two years' character, the bargain was closed. Twelve pounds a year, a week evening out and every other Sunday; up at six, to bed at ten; the washing done at home, but help given; two children sleeping in Priscilla's room."Fourteen people in a house this size, you may imagine." sad Mrs Hayden. "We have the three

youngest with us, and you have the two next. The three elder girls have the big top room and the three boys the first-floor back. The little room near ours I keep for a visitor."Visitors too! Priscilla laughed when she thought of it, but the relief was so great that she felt light-headed with happiness and laughter. Even when she saw a black-beetle in the kitchen cupboard it seemed less loathsome and lugubrious than its myriad cousins at the bank. There was work here, hard, back-breaking work no doubt, no time to herself and probably the plainest fare. The rooms did not look as if money was plentiful; but from top to bottom the house, like its mistress, was homely and kind. When the children came back from school it was filled with laughter and young voices. At first the swarm of children dazed Priscilla. She was at work already, helping to lay the cloth and serve the dinner, but because she was new some of the children gathered round her, and they hindered, as children will. There were five children at school, she found, and they came back to dinner every day. The six elder ones were all at work and, like their father, had only breakfast and supper at home. The family had its meals in the little dining-room, and Priscilla ate by herself in the kitchen, for caste in Boadicea Road is rigid at some points and relaxed at others.Mrs Hayden dished up her stew herself, and gave Priscilla her portion before it left the kitchen. After the stew there was a light plain suet pudding eaten with treacle: good appetizing food all of it, and ambrosial compared with the scraps Mrs Stoker threw out to her. When Priscilla went back to the station and arranged for the out-porter to bring her box to Boadicea Road,

she looked a different girl her friend of the morning told her."'E meant to pay you out, but it don't look as if 'e 'ad," he said cryptically."Who you gassin' about?" asked Priscilla."'Im." With a wink and a twirl of his hand the young porter designated the red-nosed one who stood near, but pretended not to see Priscilla."What's he want to pay me out for, and what's he done?" asked Priscilla, in surprise."You got the wrong side of 'im somehow. 'E split on you--told Mr Stoker about your 'avin' visitors. I 'eard 'im. I thought you'd rather know 'ow it came that you was chucked in such an 'urry. 'E told, and then we waited to see you come out--and you came. It was like a play.""If I was ever in a play I wouldn't act the part of a sneak. I'd be ashamed," said Priscilla, edging nearer to the red-nosed porter and addressing an irresponsive back in a clear voice. "You weren't half as glad to see me come as I was to get away, and whoever helped me out of that house did me a turn. Good-night, and I hope I'll never see this station again.""Now there'll be words between 'im and me," said the young porter, accompanying Priscilla outside the station. "Why can't a woman ever 'old 'er tongue?"Priscilla jumped on to a bus that Mrs Hayden had told her to look for, and went back to the Boadicea Road in time to help with the children and the supper. She had not felt so happy since she left Daneswick, and though she had not finished work till eleven, she sat up and wrote two short letters, one home and one to Gertie, telling them of the change she had made. She did not tell her parents how the change had come

about, and she did not tell Gertie that she was serving a family of thirteen."We'll start washing first thing to-morrow," Mrs Hayden said, when Priscilla came back from the station. And next day they did start, the woman and the girl together washing, mangling, starching, ironing for fourteen people. The little house was full of steam the first day, and of the smell of hot irons the next; full of lively, healthy children too, who slammed doors and had voices like steam whistles. Then there were all the rooms to do and meals to get, boots to clean, and washing-up to hurry through. The girl had not the nerves or muscles for the place though she tried valiantly to keep up with what was required. The children worried her, for, except at school, she had never been used to children. The clatter and the work they made got on her nerves, and for the first time in her life she found her temper short when she was tired. Mrs Hayden did what she could to relieve her. She worked with a will herself and often sent Priscilla out on an errand or for an airing with the younger children on the common. But these ameliorations were not enough. By the end of the second week Priscilla had black rings under her eyes, and in the midst of the third week she fainted."I knew it when I opened the door to you," said firs Hayden. "You're a good girl, but you want a lighter place.""It's what I been through before I came that's done it," argued Priscilla, "never a decent meal and up half the night waitin' for them to come home. I wish I'd left them at the month."For with regret on both sides it was agreed that Priscilla must leave Boadicea Road at the end of the

month, provided she could find a place and Mrs Hayden a more brawny maid in the time. They both told Mrs Johns at the registry office of their needs, and Priscilla told Gertie in a letter. She also wrote to Mrs Masters and asked her if she would be willing to speak for her again."DEAR MRS MASTERS [she wrote],--I have not written lately because I have not been comfortable, but I do not want them to know at home. The first place was a regular bad one. She drank, and they left days and nights and did not pay my wages and sent me off without my money, because I had my sister Gertie to visit me. Here there are thirteen in family and they are nice people, but the lady wants someone bigger and stronger because of the washing. She has no complaint to make, but yesterday I fainted; and she says she fears it might turn to fits. Gertie says get a place as under-housemaid if I can, and I'm going to try if you will be so kind as to speak for me again. Your sincere friend,PRISCILLA DAY."How are Mr Masters and Mr Harry? Is he married yet?"She had just written the letter but not folded it, when Gertie arrived unexpectedly, an apparition of awe-inspiring splendour in a blue velveteen gown and a fur stole and muff. Mrs Hayden was in the kitchen, but she received the young lady politely, and left the sisters to themselves."Reggy is outside," said Gertie. "I can't stay five minutes. We're going to supper with an aunt

of his near here; but I thought I'd see where you'd got to and what you meant to do next. However you find these rotten little places, I can't think."Priscilla reminded her sister that she had been glad to get a roof to her head three weeks ago, even a little one; and it was not rotten."I had to borrow a shilling to pay the out-porter for my trunk. I only had coppers left and nowhere to go. I've written to Mrs Masters now and asked her to speak for me."She took the letter from her writing-case on the dresser and showed it to Gertie, who pointed out that the proper way to begin was "Dear Madam" and to end "Yours respectfully" or "obediently.""Not to Mrs Masters!" cried Priscilla. "I wasn't like a skivvy there at all. I was one of theirselves always--except sometimes when they mealed in the sitting-room because of visitors.""What's Harry Masters like?" asked Gertie."One o' the best."Priscilla had turned back to the dresser and put her writing-case away again. Harry had given it her at Christmas and it was a nicer one than young servants usually possess. Her voice as she answered her sister had betrayed something to that astute young woman and roused her curiosity."Is he going to be married?" she inquired."I believe so.""Who to?""Julia Morton.""What's she like?""She's pretty and she's educated," said Priscilla, facing the kitchen again, her private grief showing in I her eyes."You'll be pretty too," said Gertie, looking at her young sister cheerfully. "You're only a kid yet and you've a lot to learn. P'rhaps in ten years you might think o' gettin' married, and then you'll be young. Thirty's soon enough, I tell Reggy whenever he bothers. You must get a good place in a good house and keep it at least a year. Then you'll get on like I'm doin', and like mother did. Poor old mother! Her life is cruel hard still, I suppose. I mean to run down and see them next summer. It gives me the fair hump to be there, but right's right. She had all her good times before she married, and so do most women in our class as far as I can see. Sure you've the right address of that registry office? If I can I'll run round myself one day this week and speak for you. They know ME."CHAPTER XWHEN Priscilla left Boadicea Road she went up in the world. She got a place as tweeny maid in a house in Museum Square, where five indoor servants were kept. The cook was elderly, the sewing-maid was French, the parlourmaid had views and aired them, but Jane the housemaid became Priscilla's friend. They were the same age and shared a bedroom. If the cook, who slept next door, had not rapped on the wall they would have talked all night, when Priscilla first arrived. They told each other everything about their homes and early lives, about their places and their lovers--at least Jane told about lovers; Priscilla had to confess that she had never yet walked out with anyone; but Jane was very kind and said that it was just as well not to be in a hurry and that if you were a girl the men would leave alone, you could have as good a time without them as with them. Jane was a tall, slim girl with large blue eyes and thick fair hair. She was not as quick and clever as Priscilla; but she had more experience. Her manner was quiet and rather serious, she was good-tempered, and she took a pride in her work. The Brintons were people who got hold of good servants, treated them well and kept them. At least they kept four out of the five. The tweeny maids seemed to change often, but that, said Jane, was entirely due to Fräulein. The tweeny maid had to wait on the third floor, where Fräulein lived with her two pupils, Milly and Emmy, and every

unpleasantness that arose in the house was in connexion with this part of it."She's a terror," said Jane, instructing Priscilla the moment she arrived. "Rings you up and down all those stairs without any consideration for either your legs or your vegetables. It's very awkward just about dinner-time when she wants you upstairs and Mrs Enfield wants you in the kitchen. Besides, she sets traps.""What sort of traps?""Oh, don't you know? Bits of cotton shut in drawers to see if you open them and crumbs in corners to see if you sweep clean. She used to write Maud's name in the dust on the furniture. Naturally Maud didn't like it. She told Mrs Brinton when she gave notice that she hadn't been used to such ways. But you might as well try to uproot the Monument as Fräulein. What they see in her I can't think; but it may be only that they don't want the trouble of changing. At least one day when I went in rather suddenly with hot water I heard Mrs Brinton say it was only for another eighteen months, thanks be, and I believe it meant Fräulein because he answered something about school in Paris.""Well, she won't write her name in my dust," said Priscilla; "I'm very particular."But when she had been in the house a week she found that however well you did your work Fräulein nagged at you, and in kitchen vernacular kicked up rows. She was an unlovely, middle-aged woman with a loose, thick-lipped mouth, frizzy black hair and languishing cow-like eyes. She was very excitable and talked a great deal about her nerves. Milly and Emmy detested her, but as she drummed some German into

them and kept them employed, she was considered a successful governess. She hated England and the English, and, above all, she hated English servants, for she could not understand their ways or their point of view. When she first came she used to descend into the kitchen at all hours of the day and want to cook there or iron her own laces and muslins. Mrs Brinton had to explain that this could not be allowed. Fräulein submitted in deed, but not in spirit. It was a grievance that fermented in her whenever others were dormant. She could not understand why those below stairs should object to her presence amongst them, and why at certain moments of the working day they should sit down to their own employments undisturbed. Mrs Brinton argued the point with her. She said that she paid and supported other women to do the work that for various reasons she did not want to do herself, and that as long as they did it well she was satisfied. If there was a margin left to them for their own interests and amusements, so much the better. But Fräulein could not agree. It exasperated her to find Mrs Enfield quietly and comfortably darning her own stockings in the afternoon because she had very little to do that day for dinner. She had wanted her assistance with an elaborate German cake for Milly's birthday, and Mrs Enfield had given it, but not amiably. It was after this that Mrs Brinton tried to explain English downstairs law to Fräulein, and asked her not to go into the kitchen. Fräulein wept, but refrained, for she valued her post with the Brintons, and especially valued the free time they gave her, but if you had tried to argue from her case to the servants, she would have been mortally offended. They were of a different clay.They were all more sensible and cheerful than she was, but then they were not lonely. Partly through her temperament and partly through her circumstances, poor Fräulein lived a solitary life in that crowded house, brooding over imaginary grievances and hungering for joys she was denied. The Brintons treated her politely, but liked her less and less as time went on, and they found that in one way or the other she was a disturber of the peace. The servants she had made her enemies, and the more civil they were to her face the more she suspected them of derision behind her back. She suspected far more than was there, as such natures do. Mrs Enfield did not allow much gossip in the kitchen, and if Meadows spoke of Fräulein, it was to say that the present system bred women like her and that the system would change when women had the vote. Meadows did not mean to marry because she did not like the marriage laws, but of course anyone could see that what ailed Fräulein was the want of a husband and children. The younger servants thought Meadows put the cart before the horse. Fräulein was an old maid because she was cross and silly and ugly. Jane and Priscilla had no patience with her.The very first day that Priscilla did her work on the third floor there was a fuss there. Fräulein missed a small gold brooch, and as good as charged Priscilla with stealing it. She was sure she had left it sticking in her pincushion. She valued it above all the treasures of Bond Street because a beloved aunt had given it to her. She insinuated to Priscilla that unless it was immediately restored she would inform Mrs Brinton. Her voice rose to a scream and she shook her hands at Priscilla to emphasize what she said.

The girl ran to Jane, her friend, and told her what was going on."I haven't seen any brooch," she said indignantly. "I'm not a thief.""Keep your hair on," said Jane. "It's only Fräulein," and she went up to the third floor with Priscilla. The two girls found the governess in her bedroom, making hay of her things in her search for the brooch, very angry and trembling with excitement."Was it your little gold butterfly brooch, Miss?" said Jane civilly."Yes. . . yes," gasped Fräulein, shaking out an ancient fur tippet, at the same time repeating that she had left the brooch on the pincushion, and that all search was vain."You wore it the night you went to the concert in your black blouse. I noticed it when I fastened the blouse for you."As she spoke, Jane opened a drawer, took out a black lace blouse and showed Fräulein the little brooch still fastened into it. If she expected her to look pleased and grateful, she was disappointed. A gleam of suspicion and mortification made Fräulein's eyes more disagreeable than they had been before, and she said roughly to Jane:"How is it you know in which drawer I keep my blouses?""I saw you take it out when I helped you dress," answered Jane curtly, and she went out of the room, Priscilla following her. It was all very well, she said to Jane. This time the lost article had been found at once, but next time it might be really lost, and was a girl to be accused of stealing on that account?"I'm as honest as she is," said Priscilla, very white and angry. "Horrid old thing!"So that was not a good beginning. Priscilla liked her work in the kitchen under Mrs Enfield and hated serving Fräulein on the third floor. She had never yet been up and down stairs all day and it made her legs ache. Every time the schoolroom bell rang she had to answer it, and she generally found that she had to come down again for what was wanted, and Fräulein was for ever wanting things that in the opinion of the kitchen she ought not to want. She could not bake upstairs, but she was never happy unless she was making little messes in pots and pans; medicines, sweets and pickles that no one in the house liked except herself; then she needed starch for her ironing, and hot irons to be carried to her in relays. If she had been amiable and grateful Priscilla would not have minded so much, but she took all the service she demanded sulkily, knowing that it was given against the grain, and always looking out for an explosion. Just before Christmas she became more active and volcanic than usual, because she began to manufacture little presents for the Brintons and for her friends secretly and at impossible times. She would get up at six and shiver in the schoolroom till Priscilla came to do the grate, and if the girl was five minutes late be surly to her. At this hour of the morning she herself wore a tartan dressing-gown, a putty-coloured shawl and a sort of nightcap over her undressed hair; but one morning when Priscilla had the audacity to appear without her cap, Fräulein complained to Mrs Brinton of the new tweeny maid's impertinence. Mrs Brinton sent down word through Mrs Enfield that Priscilla must not appear outside her bedroom capless, and the kitchen had a laugh over it, and that little storm blew over.But two days later Priscilla was in disgrace again. Just as she was sitting down to breakfast the third-floor bell rang and she dashed upstairs, ruffled herself because she wanted her breakfast, and had left a generous slice of bacon getting cold on her plate."What do you mean by this?" exclaimed Fräulein, holding out a muddy skirt in both hands so as to display the worst of the mud.It was a question Priscilla could not answer, because she did not know what Fräulein meant."Do you want it brushed?" she said unwillingly. She was not going to do it till after breakfast she said to herself."Did you see it outside my door this morning?" asked Fräulein."Yes, I saw it," said Priscilla."What did you think it was there for?""I didn't think anything about it.""Don't you know that when I hang anything outside of my door it shall be brushed instantly. Have I not placed a nail there for this reason? Ach! These English servants! It is to become mad! Nothing they will do. I will now brush it myself.""Is that all, Miss?" said Priscilla, who wanted her breakfast badly and was only roused to inward derision by Fräulein's lack of self-control.Fräulein did not answer. She took the skirt into her room, slammed the door in Priscilla's face, and brushed the skirt violently herself, fanning her grievance against the girl into fury as she did so, and filling the room with a cloud of dust. She was not at all a wicked woman, at least she did not sin against the decalogue, but she was bad-tempered, quarrelsome and touchy, so she made everyone she had to deal with dislike her."How could I guess she'd hung out her old skirt to be brushed?" Priscilla asked in the kitchen. "I never saw that done before.""No more did I," said Jane, "but Marie says it's done abroad. They've all sorts of queer ways there, I s'pose.""I s'pose they have," said Priscilla, "but I don't see why they want to bring them here.""This grand cook as is comin' for Christmas 'as been abroad," said Mrs Enfield. "You'll 'ave to mind your p's and q's with 'im, Prissy.""First word I've heard about him," said Priscilla.She had been nearly a year now in Museum Square and you would hardly have known her for the little drudge who had allowed herself to get down at heel and hopeless at the Stokers'. She wore tidy shoes now. She had bought new cotton frocks, and Gertie had helped her to choose the latest thing in caps. She had a trim little figure, and an inborn knack of wearing clothes well and doing her pretty hair. Good food and regular hours were giving her a little colour and rounding the curves of her body. Jane's friendship supported her, and Mrs Enfield had said only yesterday that Prissy had more sauce in her than she expected at first. In spite of Fräulein, the girl was happy on the whole, and felt that she was getting on in the world. She had heard that Harry Masters was to marry Julia Morton at Christmas, and she had made up her mind that she would think no more of him. If she had stayed at Daneswick this might have caused her some heartbreak, but the sudden violent changes in her surroundings had sent Daneswick far into a past of faded colours. At first she had been wretched, but now she was beginning to enjoy life, the sense of youth and the cheerful companionship of

service under good conditions. Jane and she still chattered like magpies whenever they got the chance, and you may be sure that they chattered of lovers. Priscilla began to wish that she had someone to walk out with, for her evenings off were not much use or pleasure to her yet. She had soon found that a pretty, respectable girl cannot loiter near London shop windows with impunity, and she had had various small adventures that frightened her until Jane told her how to meet them. But Jane's advice was to take up with someone soon, not necessarily with a view to marriage, but for safety and amusement."P'r'aps Albert and I will never marry," she explained. "He hasn't asked me yet. P'r'aps he will some day. But he wouldn't let anyone annoy me, and I enjoy myself quite different when I'm out. Trapesing about by yourself is miserable.""Yes, it is," said Priscilla."Have you no relations in London?""I've only got a sister and she's always out with her Reggy.""It's the worst of service," said Jane pensively."If we didn't go out we should have no fun, and if we do--Don't you go taking up with anyone, kiddy. I'll have a look at him first.""You can't look at him till he's there," said Priscilla. "They don't seem to be dyin' for me so far.""I might introduce you to Albert's cousin," said Jane. "He's plain and quiet, but he wouldn't harm a mouse. I never saw such freckles as his, but you needn't look at them. His young lady has just jilted him for a fellow with a dark moustache. He's awfully cut up, Albert says. His name's Spark--Ernest Spark. They call him Ern."It didn't sound exciting or romantic. Priscilla, who

was reading a wildly thrilling serial called "Scullery and Coronet," thought of a hero whose proportion were those of the Apollo Belvidere, the celebrated type of manly beauty, explained the author, who had not a ounce of superfluous flesh in his body, who rode to hounds so magnificently that the whole hunt stopped to look at him, and who punted the heroine across Ullswater in a violent storm, thereby saving her life and winning her hand. It was his elder brother who wore the coronet and married into the Scullery. He was only a younger son. With her head full of Lord Marmaduke, a freckled Ern Spark fell flat."I'm not in any great hurry," she said. "Next Sunday I'm going out with a girl I know at home. I met her yesterday in the square. Fancy! she's been at a place in Gardenia Street for three months and I never knew it. I don't like her at home, but I was glad to see her here.""What's her name?""Polly Spiller. She's a kitchen-maid now.""Where are you goin' with her?""I don't know--she's goin' to call for me.""Why didn't you like her at home?""We didn't like her folks. . . . Mother didn't. They're a rough lot.""There are some queer houses in Gardenia Street," said Jane. "I wouldn't take a place there myself."CHAPTER XITHERE was to be a dinner of ten courses on Christmas Day, and this here Mr Digby was coming to cook it. Mrs Enfield said she had no objection and that if he wanted his meals in the schoolroom instead of comfortably in the hall with the rest of them, she supposed he had his reasons. She had never heard of a cook wanting his or her food carried to the third floor before he or she would eat it, but those were the orders, and Priscilla would have to obey them. She wondered how Fräulein would like it."I don't believe she minds," said Priscilla. "She says a great cook is an artist, and that in Germany people have a respect for art. I heard her telling the young ladies so, and she's got out her best blouse putting clean lace on it. About time she did too.""What's he like?" said Jane to Mrs Enfield, for the cook had been summoned upstairs one afternoon last week to see the great man and hear what he would want."He's quiet and gentlemanly," said Mrs Enfield. "I liked him. Queer trade for a man, I call it.""Never ought to be allowed," said Meadows. "Taking the bread out of women's mouths!""But they do it better than us. That's what beats me," said Mrs Enfield. "You should have 'eard 'im. Had it all pat. . . so much shin of beef. . . so much fish. . . sweetbreads. . . eggs. . . butter. . . and a loot of foreign stuff I've never cooked with myself. . . cockscombs. . . Bombay ducks. . . green ginger

. . . truffles. There'll be some messes for Fräulein and Marie I expect. . . . However, I've made the plum pudding--he can't spoil that.""What shall we have to do?" asked Priscilla."We!" Mrs Enfield eyed her majestically."Mrs Enfield'll wash the dishes and you'll peel the spuds," said Jane, who allowed herself a joke with the autocrat of the kitchen sometimes."That girl is gettin' a bit above herself," Mrs Enfield said later to Meadows, and she meant Priscilla. "She's taken up with some bold-faced hussy from one of those houses in Gardenia Street. I met them together last Sunday, and I'd a good mind to say something next day. It isn't my business, but it's a pity."Meadows agreed that it was a pity, but argued that even a bold-faced hussy was a better companion for a girl than a young man. Now Jane openly walked out with a young man, and Meadows only hoped it was always the same one. Mrs Enfield got angry then and said that in her opinion a steady, respectable man would do a girl far less harm than some women she knew, and the one she had seen with Priscilla was just the kind she had no patience with. Jane said she came from Priscilla's old home, but she didn't know that that made her any better. She supposed that the people at Priscilla's old home were like people everywhere else, a mixed lot.It certainly was a rum go about this here Mr Digby, the kitchen agreed. On Christmas Day he came to the front door directly after breakfast and by Mrs Brinton's orders was shown into the morning-room. As Meadows closed the door she heard Mrs Brinton wish him a Merry Christmas and ask after Elinor, as if they were friends. Presently she came downstairs with him and for some time stayed and talked about to-night's dinner. Mrs

Enfield talked too, but the younger maids were all busy upstairs. Christmas was in the house, in every corner of it. The sideboard at breakfast had been heaped with parcels and letters instead of with food. The family and Fräulein had found their presents there, and Meadows said the floor was ankle-deep in brown paper, cardboard boxes and string. The kitchen gave and received presents too, and was anxiously awaiting the belated post. Mrs Brinton was arranging flowers in the drawing-room. Milly and Emmy had taken all the holly they could lay hands on for the schoolroom. Everyone seemed to be alert and cheerful except poor Fräulein, who, as usual, had a grievance and was bemoaning it over the schoolroom fire."Your mother wishes me to have lunch downstairs and I would rather have had it up here with Mr Tiguebé," she said to her pupils. "I haf seen him twice, and we are very sympathetic to each other. We should have found much to say.""I'm sure mother wouldn't mind your having it tip here," said Milly. "Why don't you tell her?"Fräulein shook her head in an afflicted way and said nothing would induce her to upset existing arrangements; and that as a dependent and an exile she could not hope to enjoy the Christmas feast."Oh, rats!" said Emmy, and ran downstairs. In two minutes she was back again."Mummy says you are to have lunch up here by all means if you prefer it," she announced breathlessly.Fräulein threw up her hands and allowed the tears to weep in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks."Now your mother will be offended with me," she wailed."Mummy is never offended," said both girls together and one of them added: "She isn't a baby.""But we must let the servants know," said Fräulein, beginning to fuss; "otherwise they will lay for me in the dining-room. I will run down and tell them."She was off like a streak of lightning, for the kitchen, because it was forbidden ground, had a magnetic attraction for her. On the smallest excuse she would dash in and out of it, and the more her incursions annoyed the inmates, the more satisfaction it gave her to make them. To-day she found no one there except Mr Digby and Priscilla. Mrs Enfield was in the servants' hall reading her Christmas letters. The post had just arrived and a letter with a German postmark lay on the kitchen table. Fräulein pounced on it."What does this mean?" she said violently to Priscilla. "How dare you bring my post down here? Why was it not brought up at once?"Mr Digby looked up in surprise. He was a quiet, refined-looking man with the profile of a sixteenth-century Venetian noble and the long, articulate fingers of a surgeon or a violinist. His early history had been one of adventure and privation. His mother had died when he was still a child, and at the age of twelve he had been taken from a good school and sent to sea by a stepfather whose sole concern was to get rid of him, and who said "roughing it" would do him good. The boy endured two years of it, then had the bad luck to ship with a notorious brute and, glad to escape with his limbs unbroken, had run away in New York. For ten years he knocked about the States, trying all trades, and finding by an accident that he had an unusual capacity for the well-paid one of cook. He took to it when his fortunes were at their lowest ebb and

remained at it because he rose higher and higher. A brilliant offer from a new American hotel in London brought him back to his own country, where he had now been living again for five years. He was much too great a man to cook in Museum Square as a rule, but he had engaged to do Mrs Brinton's Christmas dinner at his sister Elinor's request. She knew that he was resting between two engagements and that the Brintons wanted more on this occasion than their good Mrs Enfield could give them. So it had been arranged."Why haf I not had my letters," Fräulein said again to Priscilla, and then she looked at Mr Digby."I was told to stay here and peel these chestnuts," said Priscilla. "They're wanted at once.""Why are you not in the scullery?" cried Fräulein. "Your place is in the scullery. You are probably in this gentleman's way. I see at once by his hands that he is an artist. He will cook with his mind as we do in Germany, and that is a thing you English cannot understand. Are you French or German or perhaps Italian, monsieur? All these nations can cook. But the English, they cannot. I die of indigestion here. My Magen suffers, oh, terribly. I have not caught your name, although I haf seen you twice.""My name is Digby. I'm English," said the cook, manipulating his truffles quietly."Impossible!" exclaimed Fräulein, looking at Mr Digby with a languishing eye; and then she turned to Priscilla again and gave her orders about lunch."I shall haf it quietly upstairs to-day," she said."Very well, Miss," said Priscilla. "Will you have it before Mr Digby or after?""I will haf it at the same time," said Fräulein, and

angrily snatching up her letter she departed from the kitchen.Priscilla went on with her chestnuts. She was doing them here because Mr Digby had told her to leave them on the fire and peel them while they were hot. He had found her struggling with cold ones and wasting half. He told her what he wanted in an even, quiet voice and very clearly. She felt sure already that she could learn whatever he chose to teach her, and that to cook under him would be an occupation that never palled. She began to think that she would like to be a cook herself, and she wished he would take her as a kitchenmaid. When she had finished the chestnuts she had to beat up the whites of eggs for meringues, and she offered to do this in the scullery so that the noise should not annoy him. But he said that he did not mind the noise and that he wanted to tell her when to stop. He did not converse with her. He was absorbed in his own preparations, and while she beat her eggs she often glanced at his deft hands that performed miracles she had never heard of, and would have thought impossible. Mrs Enfield had talked of a tongue and a turkey as two separate dishes, but he was making one of them. All the bones of the turkey were out of the great bird already and on the fire for gravy. Mrs Enfield had come in now and sat there watching him. He wore the white suit and cap of a cook, and he had turned up his sleeves so that his thin, wiry wrists seemed to add to the unusual length of his hands."Have you been in Paris?" said Mrs Enfield."Only for a week at a time," he answered."But your cookin's French?""There are French cooks in New York. They taught me.""It's a lot of trouble this furrin' cookin'."He did not deny it."And when it's done give me a mutton chop and an apple-pie. More 'olesome and just as appetisin'. What about this fire now? It's nearly out and time to be seein' about lunch."Mr Digby explained that he wanted a cool oven for his meringues."I call it blasphemious to 'ave merangs on Christmas Day," said Mrs Enfield, who was in a critical mood, but quite good-tempered. She would not have yielded her place to anyone of her own sex, but like most women she did not mind playing second fiddle to a man, especially one as amiable and talented as Mr Digby. It was wonderful to watch him, she owned later to Meadows."You go and light the scullery fire and get that oven 'ot, quick," she said to Priscilla. "We can do the beef there at a pinch. I'll see to them eggs."Mrs Enfield belonged to an older generation and shocked the younger girls by her want of aitches and of grammar. Priscilla sometimes left out an aitch, but not often, and she knew better than to talk of "them eggs." She wondered what Mr Digby thought of it. She was very unwilling to leave the kitchen and work by herself in the scullery, instead of with him, but she had to do as she was told. When she went back, the meringue was in the oven, and Mrs Enfield was stoning olives for which Mr Digby prepared a stuffing."Done your veges?" she said to Priscilla.Priscilla said that the vegetables were ready and the oven too. It was one seldom used, but it heated quickly."You come along and do these nasty finikin' things then," said Mrs Enfield, getting up heavily. "I've no patience with them."She waddled out of the kitchen, leaving Mr Digby and Priscilla by themselves again."You can put those aside," said Mi Digby, pointing to the olives Mrs Enfield had stoned. "I can't use them. I'll show you how I want them done."With a penknife he took an olive off its stone in a delicate ribbon so that it curled back into its original shape when it was finished. Priscilla imitated him, very slowly and carefully at first and then more quickly."I suppose you like cooking," Mr Digby said to her. "You seem to learn easily."Priscilla's heart beat with excitement. He had not spoken to her before except to give an order or an explanation, but she had pleased him. Till to-day she had not thought that she liked cooking. She hated the heat of the fire and all the rough work of the scullery that coarsened her hands and skin. She had made up her mind that she would be a parlourmaid as soon as she could, but this morning she changed her mind, for the time being."I'd like to learn this French cookin'," she said. "It's interestin'."Mrs Enfield came back as she spoke and heard her."I've three girls of my own and I wouldn't let one of them go into the kitchen," she said. "It's 'ard and it's 'arassing, and it wears you out afore your time. If a pretty girl must be in service let her be in the parlour work I say.""I quite agree with you," said Mr Digby unexpectedly."But cookin' must be done," said Priscilla. "How'd we get on without it?""You mustn't think the world won't go round unless you're shovin' it," said Mrs Enfield. "All you've got to settle is your own bit o' work in it."Mr Digby's silence suggested that at the moment his work was not general discussion but cooking. He wasted no time, created no disorder and never got hurried or flurried. When lunch went upstairs he asked Priscilla to show him the way to the schoolroom and he told her that he would be back in an hour and would have plenty for her to do all the afternoon."Can I not help you too?" said Fräulein, who was waiting for him on the top of the stairs. "There is nothing I should more enjoy. I assure you it would be a pleasure. I am an excellent cook myself. I understand everything, and that is why I suffer at every meal in this country. Here all is so insipid. . . so tasteless. . . so barbarous. The use of the onion is unknown. Even salt is too much trouble. But I forget, dear Mr Tigby. . . I must be careful. . . my susceptibilities are offended every moment by the coarse manners of the English. . . . I must not give offence in the same way. . . only nefer for a moment can I persuade myself that you, who seem so amiable, so sympathetic, are an Englishman.""He seemed quite dazed and never answered a word," related Priscilla, when she went downstairs; for she had laid the cloth in the schoolroom and heard the cascade of words with which Fräulein received her guest."She never stopped talkin'," said Priscilla, and when she had taken up the schoolroom lunch and come down again, she said that Fräulein was talkin' still."She's made him sit in the easy-chair by the fire, because she said she knew he must be tired by his efforts and she's goin' to make him black coffee to keep up his strength, and she says she's determined to come down here this afternoon and help him.""That she won't," said Mrs Enfield; "not if I have to lock the door.""Love laughs at locksmiths," said Jane. "Poor Fräulein!""She offered to make his Tartar Sauce for him," said Priscilla, "and when he said he didn't put somethin' or other in, she said she did and it improved it.""How did he like that?" asked Jane."I couldn't tell you. He keeps his thoughts to himself.""That's what I like about him," said Mrs Enfield.CHAPTER XIITHE Christmas dinner was cooked and served without a hitch, and neither the host nor the hostess knew that early in the afternoon there had been a disturbance in the kitchen. After lunch Mrs Enfield always had a nap in her bedroom while Priscilla washed-up in the scullery. You see this is a story of life below stairs, and sculleries come into it as inevitably as boudoirs and diamonds come into a story about dukes. There is no glamour below stairs. The people there are sometimes at leisure and sometimes at work, and in many houses well cared for and comfortable. Where no men are kept, women are herded together, and shut in more than is good for their health and their tempers, so they alternate between violent friendships and violent feuds. They are not educated people, and they occupy a position that is socially unpopular. There is generally a gulf fixed between them and their employers that they themselves refuse to bridge. By tradition they are the comic relief of the drama, and they know this and resent it. A girl washing dishes in the scullery may be as pretty as you please, but how can she be a figure for romance? Priscilla had a new light in her eyes this Christmas Day as she washed her dishes, and she worked at top speed because she wanted to get back to the kitchen and serve Mr Digby. If he had been a knight she would have wished to be his page, keep his armour burnished, sleep at his feet and tend his horse. As it was, she desired to be in his

presence, to take his quiet orders and to work under him, knowing neither fatigue nor impatience. She had not thought much about Harry Masters lately, although she had heard from home that Julia Morton had jilted him, and she had never felt that she was a daughter of earth and he a god from Olympus. She had never felt like this before: in a dream and yet agitated and restless. She knew it was silly and unprofitable. After to-day she might never see him again. But the day was long still and full of opportunities. Till dinner now her place was in the kitchen. After dinner she would have to be back in the scullery at this hateful job of washing-up. How she hoped that Mrs Enfield would be as good as her word and keep Fräulein away. Anyone could see how it was with Fräulein, horrid, ogling thing--older than him by many a year. . . . As she talked to him her voice had been honey-sweet and wooing, while whenever she spoke to Priscilla it was harsh and dictatorial. Yesterday while Priscilla washed-up she had thought of her old home and the people in it; of the four houses she had served in before she came to Museum Square; of Polly Spiller, whom she had seen several times lately, and who had asked her to go to the pantomime with her one night. But this afternoon the events of the morning passed in review, every incident in high relief, every word he had spoken remembered like a melody. He had lent her his knife to peel the olives. She had given it back and he had thanked her. She would not for the world have let anyone know this and indeed it seems unfair to tell it of her, but when she carried the coffee tray downstairs she had drunk out of his cup. She would have liked to break Fräulein's, but things never did break when you wanted them. Always the other way.Of course Fräulein was in the kitchen when she went back there; and she looked at Priscilla as if the tweeny maid was the interloper. But Priscilla took no notice of her."Shall I make up the fire now, sir?" she said to him, and he told her she might. The meringue had just been taken out of the oven, and Fräulein was clasping her hands at it and going on in her silly way. Priscilla admired it very much, but she would not say so just now. She asked what she should do next when she had made up the fire, and was told that she could peel some carrots and cut them into tiny dice and stars."But that I can do for you," cried Fräulein. "Or shall I make you that sauce in my own way? Or will you have some almonds properly prepared?--quite, quite fine, I promise you. Priscilla, go upstairs and fetch me my spectacles and an apron, and tell the young ladies."But at that moment Mrs Enfield came into the kitchen, a large, imposing figure who waddled because she was stout and yet had dignity. She saw Mr Digby quietly at work, and Priscilla untying a bundle of carrots, and Fräulein hovering close to Mr Digby, "worreting him." Anyone could tell from his manner that he felt worried by the lady and wished she would go. He did not look at her, but as Mrs Enfield entered he lifted his eyes and looked thankful."Priscilla!" said Mrs Enfield, in a tone of command a general might envy, "turn on the lights and draw down the blinds. Fräulein!""Dear Mrs Enfield," said Fräulein, "there is so much to do. You must be so busy. I am sure I can help.""No, you can't, Miss. You only 'inder," said Mrs

Enfield. "Your young ladies are wantin' you upstairs--where you belong.""But I can cook," wailed Fräulein on a high note that was nearly a shriek."Not 'ere," said Mrs Enfield."I can cook much better than you.""P'r'aps so. We won't argue about it. Some likes messes and some don't. But in this 'ouse I'm paid to cook, and you're paid to teach, and in this country we each mind our own business. An 'appy Christmas.""If Mr Tigby wishes me to stay and help him I shall do so," screamed Fräulein, her eyes very angry and her cheeks very red. "I shall pay no attention to your impertinence."But Mr Digby only sighed and told Priscilla which cutter to use for the carrots. Mrs Enfield, with a majestic wave of her hand, signed to Fräulein to pass out, and Fräulein, mumbling objurgations in a foreign tongue, went up to her own room and wrote pages of a long letter describing the infamous behaviour of menials towards well-born foreigners in this rude unfriendly land. But she did not say that the menials would have been as civil as she wished if in the language of menials she had known her place and kept it. She had lived in England five years and had never found this out.In appearance the passage-of-arms had been between Fräulein and Mrs Enfield, but it was Priscilla who had won a victory. If she had fixed her attention on her carrots she would have done well, but as Fräulein departed, vowing vengeance, the tweeny maid looked at her with her widely opened grey eyes, and the angry lady saw derision in them. She went upstairs hating Priscilla evilly, hating her youth and good looks, consigning her to the gutter from which she thought all

serving wenches sprang. Her own father had been a poor pastor who had never been able to afford a servant. So she had been used at home to do every kind of household work, but not to deal with hirelings. On a desert island she would have been a treasure, a fussy, bad-tempered one, but still a treasure. In an ordinary, well-staffed English household she was a disturber of the peace."I've settled 'ER," said Mrs Enfield. "And now we'll get to business."There was to be no schoolroom tea that day, so Priscilla was not obliged to face Fräulein immediately after her defeat. She was glad of that. She had to set tea in the servants' hall, and when Mr Digby said he would have his downstairs, she flew up to her room on the fourth floor for a clean apron. Jane, who was going to help wait at dinner was just dressing. Each girl had a chest of drawers to herself, and to-day their cards and little Christmas presents were set out on the top."I'm goin' to wear a bit of holly," said Priscilla boldly, and by the light of her candle she fastened a sprig of imitation scarlet berries just on the edge of her cap. It showed up against her fluffy dark hair and looked as gay as the light of youth and Christmas in her eyes."You're as pretty as paint," said Jane, who looked very fair and pretty herself in her becoming uniform of black gown and fine muslin cap and apron."What's the good of bein' pretty when you're a tweeny?" said Priscilla."You needn't stay a tweeny.""But we're skivvies. Who thinks anything of skivvies?""I think a lot o' myself," said Jane sedately, "and

I don't call myself silly names. What's the use?""It's what other people call us," persisted Priscilla."Names don't hurt unless you let 'em," said Jane.Then they went down to tea. There was a good fire in the hall, and it was decorated with holly and mistletoe. There was a large Christmas cake on the table and a dish of hot buttered toast made by Priscilla. There was jam, and there was gingerbread and there were a few crackers left over from the kitchen dinner. Priscilla had put them on the table without asking permission, but no one found fault with her. The general mood, like the room and the season, was festive. Marie said that Priscilla's sprig of holly was tres chic."It maybe chick, but it ain't proper," said Mrs Enfield. "You mustn't go upstairs like that, Priscilla.""No," said Priscilla, looking at the place she had laid for Mr Digby with impatient expectation. Why had he not come in? What was the use of looking as pretty as paint and wearing a sprig of holly if there was no one to see it?"Shall I tell Mr Digby tea is ready?" she said to Mrs Enfield."No," said Mrs Enfield; "get a tray and I'll send it in to him.""I thought he was coming in here.""Not likely.""A hundred years hence there will be none of these odious class distinctions," announced Meadows; "they will disappear with the spread of education and universal franchise. There is no ground for them now that I can see. We behave just as well down here as they do up there--in fact much better. At luncheon the way Miss Emmy and Captain Villiers carried on with crackers

was a caution. If Miss Emmy's like that when she's in the schoolroom, what'll she be when she's out?""'Ot stuff," suggested Jane."That's not an expression I should use," said Meadows firmly. "Leave it to them upstairs. They're not particular."While Meadows preached Priscilla collected the best of everything on a small tray and carried it into the kitchen to Mr Digby. On the top of a slice of Christmas cake she had put a cracker, and he smiled when he saw it."Is all that for me?""Yes," said Priscilla.He took up the cracker and offered her one end of it. There was a tug and an explosion, leaving the valuable part containing "jewellery" in Priscilla's hand."It's a ring," she said, undoing it, "and some poetry:
"'Cupid had a little dart,With it he transfixed my heart,If you'll wear this little ringThe God of Love will dance and sing.'
Poetry is silly, isn't it?""That is," said Mr Digby."Shall I bring you another cup of tea?""No, thank you."This was real life, flat stale and unprofitable. The ring you found together led to nothing, not even to a gallant phrase. The romance flaming suddenly within you met no answering flame, but must burn unsatisfied. You spoke of cups of tea and your day's work was to scrape carrots and wash dishes. Christmas brought you heavier tasks than usual, and while upstairs all was luxury and ease, here below you had to grease the wheels

that made the chariot of life go on. Oh! happy rich people whose romances ran as smoothly as their fortunes."He must have proposed just after dinner," Meadows was saying, when Priscilla went back to the hall. "The were sitting together in the conservatory. I saw them. Mrs Brinton looks as pleased as Punch.""You haven't heard," said Jane to Priscilla. "Meadows had to go up with more cups and found them all talking about it. Captain Villiers is engaged to Miss Adair. They're to be married at Easter."Opinions differed in the kitchen as to whether Miss Adair was or was not pretty. Easy to be pretty when you could dress as she did, Jane thought. Marie knew the young lady's maid, and told stories of a rich girl's raiment that poor girls listened to as you listen to fairy tales, enjoying but only half believing. Could such things be? Priscilla followed absently."Has he given her a ring?" she asked."Not yet," said Meadows. "I looked at her left hand to see, but she hadn't a new one. I believe it happened over a cracker.""Over a cracker?""So Miss Emmy told me. She met me just outside the door and she said, 'Meadows, Captain Villiers is engaged to Cousin Joan and we are going to be bridesmaids. It's all through a cracker I pulled with him.' I said, 'How's that Miss?' and she said, 'There was some poetry inside that they had a lot of fun over at luncheon and Captain Villiers gave it to Miss Adair and asked her to come in the conservatory with him and make up a second verse to it.' Miss Emmy was very excited about it and said she had meant to marry Captain Villiers herself when she was grown up. Fräulein came out and heard her, unfortunately.""Why unfortunately?" said Jane."Gossiping with servants! All the way upstairs she was at it. I heard," said Meadows, with resentment. "Miss Emmy won't get any more harm from me than from her, and not as much, and some day I'll tell her so.""Old Sauerkraut!" said Jane, and then Mrs Enfield got up from table, saying that if there was to be a gala dinner that night there was probably a bit for everyone to do.Priscilla's part became more arduous as the day drew to its close, and before dinner began she was tired. Except for short intervals at meal-times she had been on her feet for thirteen hours by eight o'clock, when she carried the hors d'œuvres upstairs. She was the little drudge who plied between the kitchen and the smartly dressed maids upstairs. She had been told that she must only whisper outside the dining-room door, and that on no account must she be seen. Before dinner, while the family was dressing, she had stolen upstairs with Jane for a moment to look at the table, so she could imagine what was going on behind those closed doors. Wonderful the table was, set with white flowers and glass and silver and sprigs of holly. Monster crackers there were too, and luscious-looking sweets and candied fruits. Fresh fruits too on the sideboard and Venetian glasses, and on a side table the biggest bottles of champagne. Magnums they were called, Jane said. A hired waitress was helping Meadows and Jane, one Meadows knew and approved of. Three of them were none too many for what there would be to do, Jane said. Priscilla's thoughts went to Tinker's Green, and she wondered if her mother had afforded a plum pudding. Priscilla had sent her ten shillings for a Christmas present, but it would only have arrived to-day."Is Fräulein coming in to dinner?" she asked."Yes; and the young ladies too," said Jane. "It's a family party. After dinner they have games and charades. If we can get done we can stand just outside the door and see them. Captain Villiers is splendid at charades. At least he was last year. Have a chocolate?"Priscilla helped herself to chocolates from the brimming dish Jane offered and then went back to the kitchen, where Mr Digby and Mrs Enfield were harmoniously dishing-up. Then bells began to ring, there were sounds of arrival and greeting. Meadows came down with scraps of hurried news about what people looked like and what presents they had brought. "Uncle George" had given her two sovereigns to divide downstairs. Eight shillings each if they shared alike. Meadows was willing, though Priscilla was a kid and Marie did nothing for Uncle George. But there was no time now for argument. Hurry up, Priscilla, with those oysters. The dinner was to begin with oysters set out daintily with bits of lemon. The tray was heavy that Priscilla had to carry upstairs.How she ached with fatigue long before her work was over! How she had to hurry up those dark, steep stairs with the new courses and hurry down with the dirty plates and dishes! But you could not hurry down, because there was an awkward turn at the top of the basement stairs that would throw you if you were not careful. Meadows said that when women had the vote, they would bring in a bill against basements and many-storeyed houses: and a good thing too. But if it was ladies who got into Parliament, they would never trouble, because they had never had to go on even though they were ready to drop. Perhaps they did sometimes

when they climbed mountains, but then they had the fun too. Whenever Priscilla got near the dining-room door she heard a gay clash of voices, but she could not see inside. When it came to the plum pudding, Meadows lighted it outside and carried it in burning blue flames. A cheer greeted it that Priscilla heard as, heavily laden, she crawled downstairs. There were still three courses to carry up and bring down: the meringues, a savoury and ices for dessert. And then came the washing-up. That, Mrs Enfield had said, would take them till midnight, although she meant to help. Priscilla wondered how late Mr Digby would stay, and whether he would have his supper, like his lunch, in the schoolroom. She asked when she went down, and was told by Mrs Enfield to get a tray ready and carry it upstairs, as if ever anyone had earned his supper she could truly say he had."What shall I take?" asked Priscilla."The best you can find," said Mrs Enfield, too busy to particularize.Priscilla forgot that she was tired. She got a tray of the largest size and put oysters on it, rolls and butter and turkey and tongue; some salad too, and a silver dish. As she passed the dining-room door the hall was empty, but she saw what she expected to see, a great pile of uneaten meringues. She filled her dish with these and went upstairs. When she ran down again the maids were coming to and fro clearing the table for dessert."Jane," whispered Priscilla, "I want some champagne for Mr Digby." Jane, who was in a hurry, pointed to one of the big bottles just brought out. It was about a quarter full. Priscilla ran upstairs again and set it on

the tray. She had turned on the lights. Now she made up the fire a little. It was very quiet up here, and she suddenly remembered how tired she was. Instead of getting up she sat on her haunches in front of the fire, resting and hoping. In a moment her hope was realized. She heard a quick, firm step coming up the stairs. Mr Digby, still all in white, came into the room. She sprang to her feet then."Why did you bring all this up here?" he said. "I'm sure you're very tired.""I s'pose you're tired too," said Priscilla."I'm always glad when a dinner is over," he said; sitting down and filling a glass with champagne. He drank a little and then he looked at Priscilla. She did look white and tired. Her body drooped with fatigue and her lids were heavy over her beautiful eyes. She had worked well all day and had hours of work before her. He supposed she was about eighteen: a pretty, well-mannered, gentle girl with a hard life perhaps before her."Have some wine too," he said. "It will buck you up."He filled another glass half-full and gave it to her. They were large glasses, and he did not think she ought to have much."I've never tasted it," said Priscilla, taking the glass from him."Taste it now."She drank a little and put the glass down again."Don't you like it?""I'm not sure." She took back the glass and sipped a little."It's pretty," she said, watching the moving beads in it. "I think it's nice."Again she put the glass to her lips and drank more freely."What is this?" said a harsh, guttural voice behind her, and she nearly dropped the glass as she turned to the door. Mr Digby sprang to his feet and faced Fräulein."You are drinking champagne--with the kitchenmaid?" said Fräulein slowly."Yes," he said; "I gave her half-a-glass because I know how tired she is.""Tired!" snorted Fräulein. "Tired? What has she done? It is you who have worked for us all, my good Mr Tigby.""Everyone downstairs has worked," said Mr Digby. Fräulein turned to Priscilla and spoke with a snarl."Why do you wait? Ve do not vant you. Go and do your work--if you are still sober."Priscilla fled, but as she got to the top of the stairs she heard Fräulein address Mr Digby in honeyed tones, apparently in answer to something he had said:"But my dear Mr Tigby! A kitchenmaid! What can people of education have in common with a kitchenmaid?"CHAPTER XIIINO doubt Fräulein was right. Although by trade a cook, Mr Digby was undoubtedly a man of breeding and education and could never meet Priscilla on equal terms. It was unthinkable, so Priscilla thought of it and dreamed of it, and hoped against hope to meet him again. On Christmas Day she did not see him to say good-bye. She was in the scullery washing up, when she heard him bid Mrs Enfield good-night. "Say good-night to Priscilla," he had ended, and she had rushed to the door to answer for herself. But he was swift on his feet and half-way up the stairs by the time she reached the passage. When Jane and she went to bed they were both too tired to chatter, too tired even to grumble. Luckily they were young and healthy and fell asleep at once, with the alarum set later than usual by Mrs Brinton's considerate orders. But it was still dark when it woke them and Priscilla still ached and felt stiff with the work of the day before."To-day it's our turn," were Jane's first words."I got nowhere to go," said Priscilla flatly; for that had been her trouble ever since she had come to service in London. The outings other girls looked forward to she dreaded because she did not know what to do with them. When she had a week evening she could walk right along Oxford Street looking at the shops and, when the shops were shut, looking at the crowd. She could amuse herself very well in this way for two or three hours, and she was getting to know her

way about her part of London a little. But when it came to her Sunday out, she was stumped, she owned to Jane. It isn't pleasant for a pretty, self-respecting girl of Priscilla's class to wander about by herself for seven hours at a stretch on Sunday with very little money in her pocket and a body that gets tired and hungry. Men spoke to her and followed her, sometimes offered her meals, sometimes frightened her. The great thing, Jane told her, was never to look as if she was loitering. Always walk straight ahead, she must, as if she was in a hurry, and never on any account answer a man. Once you spoke you made it more difficult for yourself."The kind of man you would like to be followed by doesn't look at you," said Priscilla. She was making the usual hasty morning toilet of a girl who has a great deal of dusty, greasy work to do before the afternoon. She was in a despondent mood and spoke in a despondent tone."You never know what's before you," said Jane; with the cheerful good sense everyone liked in her. "I wouldn't change Albert with anyone, and I believe he'll stick to me. I believe he'll get on too. He's one of your steady ones, and they're the winners as a rule.""Where did you meet him?""I knew Ern Spark's young lady and she introduced me. I never liked her and was not at all intimate, but I knew her.""I don't seem to know anyone but Gerty and Polly Spiller. Gerty doesn't want me Sundays because she's with Reggy; and Polly Spiller--""She's that black-eyed girl I met you with last Sunday week?""Yes. I've been with her twice lately. She's good-natured enough.""A bit too good-natured perhaps. Takes up with anyone.""That's it," said Priscilla."Meadows says we skivvies ought to combine and have a union and set up our own clubs all over London, where we could go for food and shelter--especially Sundays. Above all keep it in our own hands, she says. No ladies and parsons in the pie advisin' this and forbiddin' that, and hymn-singing. What we want is warm, well-lighted, comfortable rooms where we can meet our friends and have tea and trust ourselves to keep it respectable. Gentlemen friends, too, of course. Why not?""It sounds lovely," said Priscilla."We ought to do it. It only wants a little organizin'. The trouble always is to keep the interferin' people out. It's a scandal the way young respectable women have to walk about in all weathers with their young men they're going to marry, because there isn't a roof where they can have food and shelter as a right." Jane got quite heated and ungrammatical when she talked of the Sunday difficulties felt by all the best of her class, but not yet met in any practical way."I dunno whether it could be worked though," said Priscilla pensively. "You get a girl like Polly Spiller into a club--""She beyaves or she's chucked out. That's easy enough," said Jane. "You'd have sensible women like Mrs Enfield managin' them. They wouldn't stand much nonsense.""There'd be a lot o' chuckin'," said Priscilla, and

then she had to hurry down to light her fires. The family was going out for the day and all the younger maids had the day off too, if they chose. Mrs Enfield was going to take care of the house and was expecting a married brother and his family to visit her. That made it difficult for Priscilla to stay at home. She would have felt herself in the way. So she went upstairs to dress when Jane did in the middle of the morning; and put on her Sunday coat and skirt and the fur hat she had bought herself out of last month's wages. Next month she meant to buy herself a fur for the neck too."Where you goin'?" asked Jane."I shall just go for a walk, and then I shall come back and sit up here and read and write letters. I'm a deal too tired to walk far. P'r'aps I'll go to bed if I'm cold.""But what'll you do about dinner and tea?""I'll fare sumptuous somehow. Don't you trouble about me. I know where the larder is.""Well, wait for me. We may as well start together. I'm goin' to meet Albert in front of the Museum. We always meet there. He likes watchin' the pigeons."Priscilla had seen Albert, but had not yet spoken to him. She thought he looked as if he had not much conversation. He was rather poorly made, beady eyed and sallow, but he had a good-natured glance and smile. She did not think he looked man enough for Jane, but June said she had seen enough of the world to value steadiness in work and kindness at home when she married, and with Albert she felt sure of both. She had walked out with a soldier for more than a year, a man with square shoulders and as tall as a lamppost. But he had been ordered to India, and then she

was the girl he left behind him. She had fretted a bit at first, but not for long. Albert was a teetotaller and the soldier had been very much the reverse."One of those Mulvaneys," said Jane. "Nice to read about, but not to live with. He never had a shilling and his wife won't either."Priscilla meant to turn back this morning directly she saw Albert, but when the two girls got to the Museum he was not there yet."First time I've known him not punctual," said Jane, and as she spoke he appeared, accompanied by a friend."He's got Ern with him," whispered Jane excitedly. "Come and be introduced."For a few moments the four young people made one of the groups you may see anywhere in London on a Sunday afternoon: the two girls both pretty, well-behaved and as near the fashion as you can be on moderate wages, and the two men wearing bowler hats, black coats and stiff collars, more sheepish in manner a than the girls and less keen about the day's pleasure."You see it's like this," said Albert, "Mrs Spark has sent Ern to ask you and me to dinner.""I'm sure it's very kind of her," said Jane."Well, I'll be goin' on," said Priscilla, and she turned away. She felt forlorn and what she called cryish, but it could not be helped. She had no friends in London, or indeed anywhere, but that was because her parents were poor. What freckles Mr Spark had!--they turned him into a sort of yellow man--only he had blue babyish eyes with them and a rather tender mouth. He looked as if you could easily hurt him, and, as Priscilla knew, he had been dreadfully hurt quite lately. A hurried step close behind led her to turn

her head, and there he was trying to overtake her."Won't you come too?" he said."Come where?""To dinner with us."Priscilla hesitated and looked at Jane, who came up now with Albert."You know you can, Priscilla," said Jane. "Ern says his mother will be pleased to see any lady friend of mine."The gloomy outlook suddenly turned bright. Mr Spark felt more cheerful than he had been able to for weeks when he saw Priscilla's lovely eyes half cry and half laugh with pleasure and relief."Sure I sha'n't be in the way?" she said, as she walked beside him. They were going to take a bus."I shouldn't think you were ever in the way anywhere," said Mr Spark.He said "wy" for way, and occasionally he dropped an aitch, but you can imagine him a nice little man for all that, the only son of a widowed mother and the best of sons; an affectionate, tender nature, not a fool, commonly educated because his father had been poor, but not dissatisfied with his place in the world. Why should he have been? His mother and he were comfortably off now. Mrs Spark's house in Canonbury Square was always full of lodgers, because she cooked well, was a cheerful, bustling creature and made city gentlemen comfortable. She would not take ladies unless they were at some work that kept them out of the house all day, and then she said she preferred the sterner sex. She liked ladies all right, she would explain, but they were more difficult to please than gentlemen and gave more trouble. You didn't find

a gentleman wanting to wash blouses in the bathroom or dressmake in the parlour, leaving a slop and a litter. All her gentlemen were out when our party of four arrived at the house, and they found dinner laid for seven in the dining-room. Three related Sparks were coming as well as Albert and his Jane; but Mrs Spark said she hated an uneven number, because it made the table look lop-sided, and that Priscilla was more than welcome. She took the girls up to a first-floor bedroom to remove their hats and coats, a well-furnished bedroom, obviously let to one of the city gentlemen at present, for there were his leather kit-bags, his dumb-bells, his theatrical beauties and a long row of boots."I shall lose Mr Billman soon," said Mrs Spark, throwing open the folding doors to let in more light and to show the first-floor front. "He's been with me four years and we're mutually sorry to part. He's goin' to be married. 'And I only hope, Mrs Spark, that the future Mrs Billman will make me as comfortable as you've done,' he says. But she won't. I've seen her. I know in a minute if a girl's the kind a sensible man ought to marry, and she isn't.""Are we?" said Jane. "It's like havin' your fortune told, Mrs Spark."Mrs Spark laughed."A man might do worse than either of you," she said. "Both neat and smart and pretty--both good-tempered. Avoid a temper and avoid a fool, I shall say to Ern if ever he asks me. But he doesn't seem to get over it at all. I wish I could give that minx a piece of my mind. She'd feel cheaper for a day or two.""It was the way she did it," said Jane, and Ern's,

mother nodded in assent. Priscilla knew the story. One morning Ern had come down to breakfast and had found on his plate a little wedge-shaped postal package. "Looks like wedding cake," he said; and it was wedding cake from the young woman who had promised to marry him and the young man she had married two days ago. No letter, no apologies, no explanation! Just the cake and their united names with her name in a corner, quite correct and fashionable, but how unkind! Poor Ern had gone to his work with red eyes, and no shame to him neither, said Mrs Spark.Priscilla could not help watching him when she went down and wondering whether the flame of love still hurt and occupied Ern as since yesterday it had done her. He ate a good dinner and so did she. A frosty winter air and the morning out in it makes young folk hungry even when it seems to them rather heartless to eat just as usual. Mrs Spark gave her friends a dinner good enough for an alderman. One of her city gentlemen had given her an enormous turkey and she had stuffed it with chestnuts. It came to table a veritable mountain of a bird garlanded with sausages browned to a turn. After the turkey came plum-pudding and mince-pies. After the sweets half a Stilton cheese "from Mr Billman" said Mrs Spark. After the cheese, dessert, port, crackers. No work to do either, no changing of plates and no washing-up. Mrs Spark's little general, Susie, did that. Priscilla looked at her stealthily and hoped she was not very tired; but it was a treat for once to have a meal for which you were in no way responsible. Priscilla had been invited out so seldom in her life that she enjoyed it absurdly. She was rather quiet at first because she

was a stranger amongst people who knew each other well; but she looked very pretty, and Mrs Spark noticed that Ern paid her considerable attention. Gravy and bread sauce were offered her the moment she wanted them, and towards the end of dinner, when she had been persuaded to have half-a-glass of port, and when she wore a paper crown from one of the crackers, the young man's eyes showed everyone at table that; thanks to Priscilla, he was at last getting over it.Dessert lasted a long time. They all gathered round the fire to crack nuts and roast chestnuts, and they all wore paper head-dresses out of the crackers. Ern wore a white sunbonnet with strings, in which his mother said he looked just like he looked when he was a baby. He took it off at once when she said this and observed that he wasn't a baby now."I may be going out to India soon," he said, with a sideways glance at Priscilla apropos of nothing."What's that?" said Mrs Spark, her glass arrested half-way to her mouth.Ern said that his firm sent one or two of their best clerks out to India every year, and he didn't wish to boast, but he'd given satisfaction lately. Why not him as well as another? Mrs Spark said if that was all she wouldn't worry herself this afternoon, and she wished he'd give Aunt Emily another glass of port instead of making his mother's heart thump with such preposterous ideas."London for all of us," said Mrs Spark, and looked at her fireside circle."We had a gentleman cook to our place yesterday," said Jane suddenly. The conversation was of that kind when everyone felt a little sleepy--too sleepy for discussions, and too polite for silence. You agreed or you

disagreed with what was put forward, but you could not be troubled to say so at any length."I never heard of such a thing," said Mrs Spark."What was he like?" said Ern."Ask Priscilla," said Jane.It was too bad of Jane. Priscilla turned quite pale and her heart began to thump. Luckily Ern did not ask her, for at the moment she could not have spoken. He reached out for the port and filled his own glass a second time, with a determination that somehow told Priscilla such excess was unusual. His mother's eyes were on him as he did it, but she said nothing."He was attractive," volunteered Jane, "but of course I hardly spoke to him. It was Priscilla who stood by his side and helped him all day and looked after him. You must have got to know him quite well.""I don't suppose I shall ever see him again," said Priscilla."He was like that," said Jane, pointing to a Durer print that belonged to the ground-floor gentleman and hung where she could see it. It was the portrait of a man with refined, ascetic features, a fifteenth-century cap and long, waved hair."Call that attractive!" said Albert."I call it a Guy Fawkes," said Mrs Spark. "Can't think why Mr Edwards wants it where it stares him in the face. But, you know, he's a schoolmaster.""Real life is different," argued Jane. "It's the hair gives him the Guy Fawkes appearance in the picture.""What sort of hair had the gentleman cook?" said Uncle George, who was rabid about class distinctions. He said they didn't exist, and he hated them."I didn't notice, did you, Priscilla?" said Jane."It was rather like that, only short. It was wavy," said Priscilla. "I noticed the likeness the moment I came into the room.""How about snapdragon?" said Ern. "We're getting sleepy. At least I am. Let's wake ourselves up, and let's put that old Guy Fawkes with his face to the wall. Shall us?"He looked at Priscilla, but she made no sign. Certainly she did not look approving."Leave him as he is," said Mrs Spark. "He won't do you no harm.""Oh, I'm not afraid of him," said Ern, "alive or dead.""You're not at all likely to cross each other's path," said Jane wisely."If ever I do!" said Ern in a warlike tone; but he did not say what would happen if ever he did!CHAPTER XIVBETWEEN Christmas and Easter Priscilla did not see Mr Digby again. She was as much in love with him as a girl in the crowd must often have been with a gladiator or a winning knight in a tournament. She wove her dreams about him, but knew he was not for her. Girls in all classes have their quick romantic attachments, and whether they ripen or not depends on opportunity. As a rule they fizzle out.Meanwhile Priscilla kept company with Ern Spark. He had not asked her to marry him yet, but he made it plain that he hoped to do so before long. Mrs Spark made Priscilla welcome at Canonbury, and if it had not been for Fräulein the spring would have passed pleasantly. Her work was lighter than usual, because the Brintons had gone abroad for some time, leaving Milly and Emmy in charge of Fräulein, and the house in the point charge of Fräulein and Mrs Enfield. She enjoyed her Sundays and her week evenings out now that Ern either met her near the Museum or expected her at Canonbury. She was not in the least in love with him and let him know it whenever he seemed inclined for sentiment; but she liked him and was glad of his friendship. Polly Spiller made fun of his freckles, and said he was too quiet for her taste. But no man was to her taste a month together.The two girls had met shortly before Christmas by chance. One evening, when Priscilla was having one of her lonely prowls, she came across Polly in Oxford

Street, with feathers flying, high-coloured, bold-eyed, showy and actually patronizing. They had strolled towards the circus together and talked of Daneswick and Tinker's Green, as if they had been friends. Polly was still in service, she said, but she was sick of it. She was housemaid now in a boarding-house, and it wasn't good enough. Too little to get and too much to do. If she had not had a great friend there she would not have stayed. But there was nothing he would not do for her."Oh! are there men-servants?" Priscilla had asked innocently, but Polly had tossed her head and said she didn't make friends with servants as a rule. Priscilla was different, of course. Polly hinted at a rise in life if she chose to take it, and Priscilla guessed at a marriage with possibly one of the boarding-house gentlemen. In the crowd at the circus they had parted, because Polly said she saw her friend on the other side and must hurry across to him. Priscilla watched her reach the opposite pavement in safety, but then a block in the traffic intercepted her view, and she turned homewards. After this she had met Polly again by accident, and then once or twice by appointment."If you didn't think her good enough at home why do you take up with her here?" asked Jane, who had seen Polly, and considered a glimpse enough."She knows her way about and I don't, so she's interestin'!" said Priscilla. "She tells me lots o' things.""She's not your sort, and never will be."In her heart Priscilla knew that Jane was right, but like all of us she had a good angel and a bad one, and when she was with Polly her bad angel fired the good one out. Polly had an immense conceit of herself and a coarse vitality that swamped Priscilla's more delicate

nature. She jarred and yet for a time she impressed. The two were never friends, and yet they met, brought together as antagonists sometimes are by the very differences that make them curious about each other. Priscilla suspected drama in Polly's life, secret, wild adventures unconfessed but not exactly hidden through shame. Polly did not seem to know what shame was. She talked to any stranger who addressed her, and one night Priscilla found herself enjoying ices at the Monico for which two young men she had never seen before were going to pay. She supposed she was silly, but she felt uncomfortable. Yet she felt thrilled too. Certainly she had travelled far since she had left Daneswick a little country bumpkin a year and a half ago. She did her hair in the newest style now, and she wore the fur hat that Ern thought so bewitching. But Ern was not with her to-night. To oblige Mrs Enfield she had come out on a Monday instead of a Tuesday, and had sent Ern a card to tell him she would go to Canonbury on Sunday next. Polly had lately changed her situation and taken to Mondays as a regular thing, and the two girls met for the first time since Christmas. At least they had encountered each other more than once on Sundays, but had gone separate ways, Priscilla with Ern and Polly with the man of the moment. This afternoon they started and stayed together hour after hour. At first Priscilla thought it a pleasant change. Ern hated shop windows and Polly liked them. Ern wanted to rush straight on and Polly loved to loiter, to watch the crowd, to comment on passers-by, to crack a joke with anyone ready for a joke, above all, to be admired. She was so good-tempered that even if you disapproved you put up with her, and that day Priscilla thrust her qualms behind her. It could not matter for once, and

Fräulein had been very sour and trying lately, and Ern was good but dull, and Jane was always on the strict side. Besides, spring was in the air. The early evening lights were radiant: even in London you could see clouds lit by the setting sun and racing across a clear, greenish sky; the flower-sellers had brought out great baskets of violets and early daffodils; the traffic seemed to enjoy its own ordered bustle, the shop windows had cleared away the rubbish of winter sales and were dressed for spring.London was big and brilliant and delightful, even when you were poor and could only walk through it. Besides, if you are young and pretty you can't tell yet what ship may be coming your way from those future seas on which the fates of the young are sailing. On the big island in Piccadilly Circus where the flower-sellers gather, Polly got into conversation with two young men, one of whom politely saved her skirt from the wheel of a threatening bus. Priscilla did not hear what was said because she was looking for a chance to cross and took it by herself, but soon after Polly crossed accompanied by the two men and introduced one of them as Mr Smith. Priscilla was not quite such a simpleton as Polly took her to be. She knew well enough that the two young men were strangers, and that the one assigned to her had probably invented his name on the island. She knew that when she was asked to have ices and then to come for a turn in a taxi before having supper at Romano's, she ought to have been firm and refused. She did look at Polly and say something about another engagement and not wanting any supper, thank you. But Polly beat down her objections with her loud laugh and slangy chaff. The two taxis summoned by the young men drew up at the kerb, the temptation to enter it was great, and before Priscilla

had made up her mind not to go, she was helped in by Mr Smith and half-way down Regent Street. Whether it was wicked or not she did enjoy that hour. The shops and streets and vehicles were all lighted now, and in a windy sky the new moon glittered, sharply outlined. Priscilla had an eye for the magic of the quiet evening above the bustle and the twinkling, moving lights of the city."How anyone ever has the nerve to do it," she exclaimed; as their chauffeur, who could not have been out of school long, steered them through the streams of Oxford Circus. The idea took her back by one of the bypaths of thought to her father's donkey cart and the lanes around Tinker's Green. You avoided the main roads there because the donkey shied at cars. If you met a car in a lane you jumped out, held the donkey's head and talked of the adventure when you got home.She laughed as she thought of it, and she wished she could go home and see the old people."Why are you laughing?" asked Mr Smith."Thoughts.""You look very pretty when you laugh.""Think so! Good old Oxford Street! Now we're gettin' along. Where've you told him to go?""I told him to go down Holborn and back by the Strand. We're to meet the others at Romano's at nine for supper. Ever been there?""I! Not likely.""I should have thought it was very likely."Priscilla shook her head."I don't know that I'm coming now.""I'm sure you are," said Mr Smith, and as he did not much mind whether anyone saw him or not, he kissed her."I'll get out now," said Priscilla, rubbing her cheek in an annoyed way with her handkerchief. She half rose to attract the attention of the chauffeur, but Mr Smith prevented that by putting his arm round her."I'll promise to behave like a lamb if you stay," he said, and his tone made Priscilla laugh again, while she disengaged herself."You evidently don't know much about lambs," she said."I couldn't face the others by myself. What would your friend think?""Polly Spiller! Let her think!""Is that her name? Are you old friends?""We're not friends at all. We lived next door in the country, and we go out together sometimes now we're both here.""Are you living in the same house?""No. Polly's in Gardenia Street and I'm in Museum Square."Priscilla by this answer gave herself away. Like all servants she looked down on her own social status and never confessed to it amongst strangers if she could help it; but Mr Smith knew that a respectable-looking girl living in Museum Square must he in service there, and that Gardenia Street was one of boarding-houses and lodging-houses."I hope you'll come out with me sometimes now we've got to know each other," he said."Not me.""I say. Why not?""Oh, a lark's a lark, but enough is as good as a feast," said Priscilla."I call that unkind," said Mr Smith, looking at Priscilla with such ardent admiration that she began to

laugh again. He was an easy-going, good-looking boy, not evil and not Mr Smith. Instead of spinning through the London streets in a taxi with Priscilla he ought by rights to have been poring over law-books in his rooms at Gray's Inn. But, like Priscilla, he was having a lark and enjoying it. His behaviour is indefensible and so is hers. The knowledge that they were highly to blame supplied the thrill to an adventure that otherwise might have been rather flat."If I was by myself in this I should be using language," said Mr Smith, lighting a cigarette when they had spent five passive minutes at the corner of York Road. Priscilla was smoking a cigarette too, for the first time, and finding it most unpleasant."Let's get out and walk," said Priscilla."Right you are," said Mr Smith.Priscilla at that moment thought the open air would do her good, and getting out gave her a chance of losing the remains of her cigarette. They crossed to the north side of the Strand and just outside Romano's met Mr Smith's friend and Polly Spiller.Priscilla had never been inside a big London restaurant and at first she felt shy and inclined to whisper. The splendour of the fittings, the size, the lights, the crowd and the polite waiters all made an impression. She thought Polly's manner rather bad and noisy and would not have imitated it even for the sake of showing that she was at ease. Polly did not like the table her Mr Smith chose and insisted on another in the full glare of the central light. Then she snatched the menu from her host's hands and said she knew what she wanted better than he did, and that when she went out to supper she always began with oysters and washed them down with fizz."Do you like oysters?" said Priscilla's friend to her."Never tasted them," said Priscilla. "We had some at Christmas, but--"Some people who had just come in took the table next to theirs. They were all men, and one of them was Mr Digby. He was standing up and being helped out of his coat when his eyes met Priscilla's, but at first he did not recognize her. She had taken off her coat too and wore a white net blouse she had bought at a sale with Mr Brinton's Christmas box. She wore her fur hat, and the fur tie she had bought out of her January wages. She could see her own flushed face and shining eyes in an opposite glass, and she could not understand why Mr Digby did not know her, for she had looked just the same on Christmas Day when she had run upstairs to get tidy for tea. She looked at him again, and now he did know her, for he smiled at her and nodded. Priscilla waited breathlessly. Would he get up? Would he speak? He was almost near enough to speak."Shall we start with oysters?" said Mr Smith."All the same to me," said Priscilla.She looked at Mr Digby again, but he took no further notice of her. He was studying the bill of fare and talking to his friends. She did not exist for him, and yet for three months she had lived on the crowded memories of a single day spent in his company. To see him again was such a fearful joy that she could hardly attend to anything or anyone else. His presence was rapture even if he did not speak to her, and she wanted nothing more. She could watch his ways hear his voice, try to imagine what he was saying, envy those on whom he smiled and discover what he liked for dinner."You are in a blue study," said Mr Smith."Did you speak?" said Priscilla, coming to herself with a start and discovering that she was expected to eat six oysters and that her glass was being filled with champagne."I asked you if you liked champagne," said Mr Smith.Priscilla had never tasted it except on Christmas Day, when Mr Digby had given her a little because she was so tired. She lifted her glass to her lips now and looked at him across it. As she did so he looked at her again, but he did not smile this time. She could not discover his thought, from his face, but she saw him look at her companions, at Polly, who had tossed off her first glass of champagne and was ready for more, and at the two men at the table, obviously of a better class than the girls and obviously paying for the supper."What's the time?" said Priscilla suddenly."Time!" exclaimed Mr Smith, as if he had never heard of such a thing."I got to be home by ten.""In Museum Square?""Yes.""Oh, nonsense; you can't. It's half-past nine now, and we haven't begun supper.""I've had oysters and champagne and a ride. Now I got to go home."Priscilla pushed back her chair and stood up."What's the matter with you?" said Polly."I got to go home.""Oh, rubbish! Go home to-morrow mornin' like me. Soon enough too.""Rather," said the other Mr Smith, an older and a

more furtive-looking man than the boy who was seeing life with him."I'm going now," said Priscilla. "Good-night."She did not dare to look at Mr Digby, and yet she had an impression that he was observing her."Well I'm d--d," said Mr Smith sullenly. He did not accompany her to the door, and she made her way through the crowded room alone, meeting many glances and feeling the biggest little fool alive. But as she passed out of the door Mr Digby, who guessed pretty well what had happened, passed out just behind her and spoke:"I'll see you to your bus," he said."Oh!" gasped Priscilla. "But you were at supper.""I shall get back to it," he said.They waited beside each other without speaking again. When they had to cross he helped her. When they got to Wellington Street her bus was just about to start, and he stopped it for her."I've never been about like this before," she blurted out suddenly--"not with strangers and drinkin' champagne.""That's all right," he said. "Who was the girl?"Priscilla told him."I'd stick to Jane if I were you," he said, as he helped her in.CHAPTER XVPRISCILLA went straight home and made a clean breast of it to Jane."I've had a high old time," she began. "What you bin doing?""Nothin' much," said Jane, letting down her thick fair hair. "Albert and me fell out.""What over?""You and Ern.""Me and Ern. What call has he to interfere between me and Ern?""Well, if it 'adn't been for 'im and me you'd never 'ave known Ern.""Granted. But Ern can manage his own affairs, I s'pose, and so can I.""That's jest what I told him. So we fell out.""Not seriously?""Depends what you call serious. We walked round the Square three times without speakin'. Then I said 'Good-night, Sulks,' and came in. There'll be a letter to-morrow night. I know Albert.""Ern knows we're only friends," said Priscilla. "I've told him straight ever so many times. I should never think of marryin' him. He's too small and freckly.""You might do worse. Seen him to-night?""No. I went out with Polly Spiller and she picked up with two gentlemen at Piccadilly Circus. They took us for rides in taxis and then treated us to oysters

and champagne at Romano's--at least I only stayed for the oysters. Mr Digby was there too and saw me into my bus."Priscilla reeled off this narrative of her iniquities as if she was not in the least ashamed of them, but she did not look at Jane. A dead silence ensued, and then Jane put out her candle."Good-night," she said, and got into bed.Priscilla thereupon put out her candle and also got into bed. After that the minutes passed like lead. Neither girl could sleep, and neither girl wanted to speak first. At last the tension was broken by Jane, who said suddenly:"There's one thing I can't and won't believe--not if you was to get black in the face telling me--'e's not that kind.""Do you mean Mr Digby?" said Priscilla, speaking the venerated name in a smothered voice."Yes, I do. 'E wouldn't be seen with your Polly Spillers.""He wasn't. He was at another table. My lot turned rusty 'cause I wouldn't stay, and he saw me into the bus, and what do you think he said just as I got in?""Somethin' about touchin' pitch, I hope.""He said, 'If I were you I'd stick to Jane.' Those were his very words. That's why I told you about it, and I never thought you'd be so horrid. Polly says all girls go on the spree when they can.""Polly 'ad better speak for 'erself," said Jane severely."But we go out with Albert and Ern.""They weren't picked up at Piccadilly Circus, and there's no oyster and champagne about either of them. You know as well as I do, Priscilla, that Albert and

Ern will either ask us to marry them or else break off in an honourable way. There's no 'arm in walking out with a respectable man of your own class and visiting his friends and relations. Everyone knows that marriage will probably be the end of it.""I'm not goin' to marry Ern.""Then let 'im go, pore boy.""I'll let him go right enough.""And as for stickin' to Jane, there's two sides to that. It's either me or Polly Spiller, and so I tell you. I won't be friends with a girl who beyaves as you've done to-night. I'd sooner leave.""Anyone 'ud think you were old Meadows," pouted Priscilla. "I don't see as a ride in a taxi and six oysters need part us to that extent.""It will, if ever it happens again. I'm very particular about my friends. My father brought me up to be.""So did mine. At least mother did. She wouldn't let me speak to Polly Spiller.""Very well. You tell her what you bin doin' and 'ear what she says.""I'd die first," said Priscilla."Just so," said Jane; and then the two girls, united again in spirit, were relieved and fell asleep.After this Priscilla froze to Polly when she met her, but kept up her friendly relations with Ern and Mrs Spark."You was a silly to run off like that," said Polly, "no one wasn't goin' to bite you.""I never supposed they were," said Priscilla. "I have to be in by ten.""So 'ave I; but cook leaves the area door unlocked.""Mrs Enfield wouldn't do that.""Cherry Blossom 'ud rather not in case a bobby

comes round, but I 'appen to know where our groceries go, so I 'ave her on toast. All the same you spoilt sport the other night, and that's a thing I can't forgive.""You needn't," said Priscilla. "I'm not goin' out with you again."Polly of course told Priscilla to wait till she was asked, and tossed her head so indignantly that her feathers seemed to bristle. After that relations were strained. Priscilla went out on Tuesdays and every other Sunday, and on her Sundays she usually went to Canonbury Square. She was beginning to make friends in London. She knew Meadows' married sister now and a niece of Mrs Enfield's and most of Ern's relatives. She wrote cheerful letters home and sent her mother a postal order for five shillings every month. Gerty and Lily did the same. So the old people were helped by their girls and were fairly cheerful too. Gerty was to marry her Reggy at midsummer and Lily was beginning to settle down. She had walked out ever since Christmas with a young man known to his friends as Alf, and to his employers as "that fool Sawyer." He was a very hard-working, methodical fool, so his employers kept him, and he was in receipt of a comfortable weekly wage.Altogether Priscilla's affairs were brighter now than they had been, and on the whole she was happy. Fräulein still nagged at her; but Fräulein was leaving in June. At times, in spite of her nagging, Priscilla felt half sorry for her."I wouldn't be her," she said to Jane. "I wouldn't like to look in the glass and see that.""I 'eard the young ladies teasin' 'er the other day," said Jane. "They were talkin' of the weddin' and

Mr Digby comin' 'ere again, and they told the old girl they supposed there'd be another weddin' soon. I know she writes to 'im. It may be on business for Mrs Brinton or it may not. His name and address in 'er writin' was on the library blotter yesterday.""Is he comin' for the weddin'?" asked Priscilla.Jane thought he was coming to cook at the house the night before Miss Adair's wedding, when the Brintons were giving a dinner-party. Mrs Enfield confirmed this, and for a fortnight to come Ern suffered from the inevitable and everlasting comparison between the real within your grasp and the ideal beyond it. But Ern put his foot into it badly."It's bunkum," he said. "If he's a cook he can't be a gentleman.""He's my idea of a gentleman anyway," said Priscilla. "He took off his hat to me when I got into the bus, and he knows I'm a skivvy.""What's the difference between him and Mrs Enfield then?" asked Ern. "One gets paid by the year and the other by the day. That's all. They both baste the meat.""They don't. That's my job. I wish it wasn't. I can't keep my hands nice. That's the worst of service.""If that's the worst you haven't much to grumble about," said Ern."Now, young people, come to tea and don't squabble," said Mrs Spark, who had been getting tea ready. She always gave Priscilla the warmest of welcomes and hoped that in the end Ern and she would make a match of it. Priscilla was a pretty dear, she said--a sweet-tempered girl, and capable and well conducted. (Mrs Spark had not been told about the

lurid adventure of the taxi, the oysters and Mr Smith.) She did not want Ern to marry at all yet awhile, but since the fateful day must come sooner or later, she hoped it would at any rate bring her Priscilla, and not some minx she could not stomach. Mrs Spark said these things to Uncle George and he agreed that Priscilla had points, but said there was no hurry, and that if Ern waited a bit he might look higher."The girl is in service," he reminded Mrs Spark."So was I till I married.""But you are not now, and Ern is getting on."Mrs Spark said he was getting on first rate and that was why she expected him to marry before long. She saw her son with a mother's eyes, and it never struck her that as a lover he might appear small and freckly. She asked nothing better of life than to sit opposite his amiable blue eyes and hear his babe's mouth speak words of wisdom. He was a sensible little man, and kind to a degree, and as steady as his poor dear father had been. She hoped he had a better constitution than his father. He took things hard, he did, and when Priscilla appeared on his horizon he had been off his feed for a long time, owing to that other affair. Mrs Spark could not believe that he would have bad luck a second time. She took for granted that in the fulness of time Priscilla meant to be Mrs Ernest Spark.But Ern himself had doubts. He could not understand Priscilla. Whenever he tried to be serious she choked him off and said she'd come out to enjoy herself. Sometimes she said she never would marry; sometimes she told him he was not the husband her fancy painted but she had a pleasant way with her and never seemed to be more than half serious; so they remained friends.Last time they met she had said the single life

attracted her--at any rate for the next twenty years. To-day, after tea, they sat in the small back garden while Mrs Spark attended to one of her gentlemen who was not quite well to-day and wanted tea and a little nursing at home."Your mother does work hard," said Priscilla--"always busy.""She likes it," said Ern. "Mother would fret if she had to lead an idle life.""I should love it," said Priscilla untruly. "I should like to have breakfast in bed and a fire in my bedroom and scent in my bath. I should like to have a French maid to do my hair and dress me four times a day and manicure my hands.""You wouldn't look any prettier than you do now," growled Ern. He knew that Priscilla was only teasing him, and yet he felt uncomfortable. The home he could offer a wife would be all a sensible young woman could want, from his point of view. There would be enough to eat in it, and sufficient furniture and a margin for clothes and amusements. But French maids! He did not propose to support the smallest general. While he worked at the office his wife would work at home, and in the evening they would have cosy little suppers together. He often brought his mother a bit of fish or a pound of sausages from the shop in Queen Street."I should like to be very rich," said Priscilla. "I just been readin' a book where a girl like me comes into a fortune--quite sudden. One day she's Susan, whitening the front steps; next day she's Suzanne Bellegarde, as sinuous as a serpent.""What a thing to be!" said Ern. "Serpents are beastly.""She wasn't. She went to a ball where she had once

cleaned the steps and no one reckonized her--not even the footman. She was dressed in white velvet sewn with diamonds, and on her proud little head a tirer--""A what?""A tirer--a sort o' crown.""No one would reckonize you if you got yourself up like that," said Ern. "I'm sure I shouldn't.""The moment she enters the banqueting-hall the Duke of Mayfair, the proudest and richest nobleman in London, spotted her.""I call that a common word to use when you're talkin' about dukes and tirers," said Ern."There isn't a common word in the book. I said spotted for short. It's a lovely book; and the Duke of Mayfair is my favourite hero in fiction. He was six feet seven, with the muscles of a prizefighter and the features of a god. You can't call that common. He had six parks and castles besides a palace in Park Lane, and a moated castle in Italy, and his income was about two thousand a day.""Jove!" said Ern. "What could he do with it?""In the last chapter he says, 'All I am and all I have I give to you, Suzanne Bellegarde, to tread under your beautiful little feet. Be my duchess.'""Some people do have luck," said Ern. "Was she wearing the white velvet and the tirer when he popped the question like that?""He would have felt just the same about her if he'd found her cleaning the steps. He said so.""I doubt it.""I don't. His blue blood would have reckernized hers even when disguised.""Oh, rats," said Ern.They were not getting on as well as usual this afternoon, and Priscilla, who had meant to impress him with her portrait of the Duke, felt a little chagrined because he seemed to dwell more on the resplendent figure of Suzanne in her velvet and diamonds."But what's the good o' readin' stuff like that," he said suddenly, and he gave himself a little shake and sat up alertly. "We've no use for dukes--you and me--but we've a lot to be thankful for. We're all right in our own way--at least, we should be if you'd only see things sensible, Priscilla. Be my dutchess! I got no parks and castles, but we might run to a smart little house out Hornsey way--with a bathroom and a bit of garden--not just yet perhaps--but some day.""We'll talk about it when you come back from India," said Priscilla--"unless you find me married.""Who says I'm goin' to India?""You did at Christmas.""Not a chance of it. Not enough education--worse luck. I said that with one eye on you to see if you'd mind.""What? The first time I ever saw you! A likely story!"Ern's sensitive, rather lovable mouth trembled slightly, and he looked fixedly at his boots."Will it ever be likely?" he said."I don't think so."Priscilla spoke with hesitation, because she was tenderly fond of both Ern and his mother, and did not in the least want to lose their friendship or the comfortable haven of their home."What a bother men always are," she cried out of both hearsay and experience. "Most of them only

seem to have one idea in their heads, and that's silly. Why can't we just be friends?""You'll be arskin' me to think of you as a sister in a minute," said Ern gloomily."It was in my mind," admitted Priscilla."If I was king o' the castle I'd stop all these novels about dukes and Susans," said Ern. "Fill a girl's head with a lot of trash, they do, and then they won't look at a man in their own walk of life that would make them happy.""Girls are not such fools as you seem to think," retorted Priscilla. "Marriage is no such catch when you're poor. I call it being poor to have to do all your own work and bring up a pack of children whether you're ill or well. I'm better off as I am."Ern was deeply shocked and offended both by Priscilla's sentiments and by her boldness of speech. He had never heard her talk in this way before, and he did not understand that for the moment she was the mouthpiece of Meadows. At anyrate she was only echoing what she had lately heard and expressing the opinions of a type to which she was never likely to belong."I thought a woman liked the idea of a home and a husband of her own," he argued."Nine times out of ten she'd rather have the home without the husband," said Priscilla."I reelly do wonder what women are comin' to," said Ern, and then his mother looked into the garden and asked him whether he and Priscilla were going for a walk before supper."I shouldn't think so," said Ern, and retired into the house. Mrs Spark's anxious eyes followed the dejected-looking figure of her only son."There isn't a better little man alive," she said, and

sat down in the old wicker chair he had just vacated. It creaked with her weight. Priscilla stared at a white daisy sorely afflicted with greenfly and did not speak."Why don't you make up your mind and have him?" said Mrs Spark. "Most girls would jump at the chance.""Would they?""Of course they would. Young men like Ern are scarce. I don't want him to marry yet awhile--he ought to save a bit more first--but I'd like to see him happy again.""So would I," said Priscilla. "But I don't want to make any rash promises. I don't want to be on and off like that other girl he believed in.""Got anyone else up your sleeve?" inquired Mrs Spark.Priscilla shook her head. She had a haunting and romantic adoration in her heart still, but she had no illusions about its return; and wherever Mr Digby's place was in the universe, she knew it would never by any chance be up her sleeve.CHAPTER XVITHE great event was over. From the area steps the kitchen had watched the bride and bridegroom depart, wedded man and wife. Compared with the Duke of Mayfair and Suzanne Bellegarde, both were wanting; but the kitchen agreed they were a handsome couple and well dressed. Marie was all for the captain with his fine moustache and ardent bold blue eyes. Jane and Priscilla were more interested in the bride's presents and clothes than in anything else. To think of one girl no older than they were themselves enjoying and possessing all these things! The jewellery she had had sent her! Locked up it was in a glass case with a 'tec to watch it both yesterday and to-day. Jane and Priscilla told themselves thrilling stories about thefts and false accusations, but they came up against insurmountable difficulties."Someone would steal the diamond tirer and put it in my trunk, you see," said Priscilla."What for?" said the matter-of-fact Jane."To make out I'd done it, of course.""What good would that do them?""The idea would be to do me harm."Jane said that was a silly idea. People didn't as a rule run big risk unless they were going to gain by it, or were mad with passion. Love, hate, greed, jealousy might drive people into crime, but not a lukewarm grudge against a little skivvy. Besides, how was anyone going to get at the jewels? By day the 'tec was

there, and when he wasn't Mr Brinton had the key of the library. Priscilla said Jane made difficulties. The way would be to drug the 'tec while the family was at dinner. As easy as anything!"What with?" asked Jane. She had no play of fancy, that girl. She saw obstacles. She thought the 'tec might refuse to be drugged, and that if you tried laudanum or chloroform you might land yourself anywhere."It isn't as easy as you think," she said.Perhaps not. Anyhow nothing of the kind happened, although Priscilla could not believe that Fräulein's grudge against her was lukewarm. Maleficent gleams were in the lady's eyes whenever she spoke to the girl, her manner was harsh, her fault-finding unreasonable."I don't know why Fräulein has such a down on Priscilla," Milly and Emmy said to each other. "She keeps our rooms cleaner than the last half-dozen did."But Priscilla had suspicions. She had not put them into words even to Jane. They slumbered still and were in that region of the mind where feelings rather than thoughts inhabit and are too obscure for speech. When Mr Digby came to the house three days running to cook for the wedding festivities her guesses crystallized into knowledge. Fräulein was in love.When there is a wedding in the house the fancies of the womenfolk in it turn to love. This is a commonplace of experience, and nothing Meadows said could stop it. There was as much thrill and excitement downstairs as upstairs, and in the schoolroom there was most of all. Fräulein sizzled with sympathy and wept over the bride, a composed, outdoor-game young amazon who wished she wouldn't but was too polite to stop her brutally."Ach! You are so fortunate and I am so unfortunate," bleated poor Fräulein."I'm very sorry," said Miss Adair, feeling that she was somehow considered blameworthy."I eat my bread with tears," sighed Fräulein.Miss Adair, who, on a different social level, was as matter-of-fact as Jane, looked at the schoolroom tea that she had come up by invitation to share for the last time before her marriage. Priscilla had just brought it in, and now appeared again with a dish of delicious-looking little cakes."Mrs Enfield has sent up these," said Priscilla, putting them on the table. "Mr Digby made them."Even Miss Adair noticed that Fräulein gave a queer start and seized the plate of cakes from the maid as if her touch desecrated them. She spoke too in a rude, snappy way, telling the girl she had not shut the door behind her and not sending any message of thanks downstairs. Priscilla wondered how much Mr Digby knew about the rapture and the pain his presence in the house excited, and which of his two devotees he would think the silliest. It almost cured her to find that she was in the same galley with Fräulein. There are some people you would rather not walk with even if the path led to Paradise.However, for three whole days Mr Digby worked downstairs and ate upstairs in a house where two women were in a flutter if he looked at them. He did not guess at Priscilla's feelings, but only found her the most faithful and industrious of kitchenmaids. Fräulein began to get on his nerves before the first day was over, because he was a quiet man who hated any kind of fuss and clack. When he left his work for an hour he liked best to be alone, and it exasperated him to find that he was never

allowed to eat and smoke in peace. She did not even eat with him, which would have been tiresome but bearable--she sat close to him watching every mouthful, plying him with wine, heaping tit-bits on his plate and offering him every fidgety attention by which a foolish woman can incense the idol she seeks to propitiate. He began to dread the schoolroom and wish he had said he would eat downstairs. Not that he realized yet what ailed Fräulein. He was the least fatuous of men and just set her down for well-meaning but insufferable. He knew that she considered herself a fellow-artist and liked to expatiate on the cakes and sauces she could excel in herself. That was wearisome, bit her ugly smile, her melting eyes and her exaggerated emphasis were worse. He was a brute not to like the poor, lonely creature better, he told himself, and found of course that self-blame did not take him a step further.The kind of pity Fräulein roused was not akin to love, but to impatience. She netted you in the toils of it by her appeals, and you struggled to be free because you suffocated. To get down to the kitchen where four sensible, cheerful women were doing the work of the house, was like getting into fresh air from a stuffy room. They were none of them educated; they were poor; they had the well-known failings of their class. At least Mr Digby was willing to concede that, though he could not see much wrong with them. He admired the way they took a heavy stress of work on their shoulders as a matter of course and rather liking the occasion for it. What did they get, he asked himself? Perhaps a tip here and there if the upstairs people were generous, and then the everlasting sight of pleasures they worked to provide but did not share. No doubt they had pleasures of their own, and love stories of their own, leading

through all the steps of courtship to marriage. Nevertheless he thought it took considerable generosity of nature to live as a poor girl in the houses of the rich, without envy or even discontent. He did not himself take the discrepancies of our social system as simply as they did.When the wedding was over and the guests had departed the upstairs folk had a rest, but downstairs was busier than ever preparing for a small boy-and-girl dance Mrs Brinton was giving at night. Milly and Emmy were to be allowed to dance in their bridesmaids' dresses, but even they were not as expectant and excited as Fräulein, who had come forth to the wedding in a strange collarless garment of sage-green.Mr Brinton had given her a generous cheque to buy herself a new gown for the wedding, but she said she could not afford to lay out all that money on a single gown. She muddled it away on various trifles, on cheap stuff, on cheap dressmakers. For the dance she had bought the flimsiest of Japanese silks in a violent shade of pinkish-mauve that is handsome in a dahlia but most trying to an unattractive human face. This too she had had made collarless, yet not decolletée, and in a Kate Greenaway style that would have suited pretty misses of fifteen, but looked grotesque on her. When Milly and Emmy set eyes on her in this creation they tore downstairs to find their mother and prepare her for a shock. Fräulein followed them when she was ready, and as guests were arriving Mrs Brinton could look and quickly look away."She's a perfect fool," she said indignantly to her husband."Why didn't you see after her?" he asked, manlike.Mrs Brinton gave him an amused glance and turned to welcome guests. Her husband was a man of brains and power in some directions, but apparently he could live in the same house with Fräulein for two years and never discover that she thought her own taste unerring; and her own personality irresistible. Any rebuffs she encountered only showed her that other people were unamiable.Priscilla had been rung upstairs to fasten the dahlia-coloured gown and had come down again twinkling with malicious amusement. But everyone was in a bustle and could not stop to gossip. She had to set to instantly herself and prepare everything Mr Digby required for his salads and all the while have her mind on the ices that were nearly ready to go upstairs. There were several strange maids in the house to-night helping Meadows and Jane to wait, for Mrs Brinton never gave work to men that women could do. Mr Digby was an exception and a peculiar case. As a matter of fact, while he cooked in the kitchen his sister was dancing upstairs, and he was as happy and serene as she was. But it had been a long day, and when the light refreshments had gone up he said he would have something to eat quietly in the schoolroom. He guessed that Fräulein would be in the drawing-rooms and that he might hope for half-an-hour's peace.Priscilla took a tray upstairs for him, turned on the light and looked round to see that the room was tidy. It was an old Georgian house, and both the schoolroom and the back drawing-room had small rooms opening out of them that had once been powdering-closets. In each case there was a square aperture in the wall, through which in former days beaux and belles could put their wigged heads and be powdered without

spoiling their clothes. A little silk curtain hung there now, and once Fräulein had been discovered peeping through it at Milly and Emmy in some mischief in the schoolroom. Mrs Brinton agreed with them that spying was not cricket, and said she needed the powder-closet for a clothes cupboard that she locked. It had only been unlocked again lately for Miss Adair, whose trousseau was waiting there till Marie had time to pack it. Such lovely things she had and such piles of them. Priscilla had never seen any like them, not even in shop windows. They had all come from Paris, and the sewing in them was fine past belief. Priscilla was delicate with her needle, but she had not had such work as this set before her, and she took an expert's interest in specimens that excelled anything she knew. Marie and she had discussed them till the others were tired of it, and Meadows said she took no pleasure in hearing of such wickedness. It was dreadful to think of one young woman wearing what would feed a hundred working families. Probably the poor women who made them suffered from hunger, cold and sickness."Wouldn't they suffer more if they didn't make them?" asked Mrs Enfield, and started one of those economic discussions that lead nowhere and exhibit social bias rather than an interest in facts. The arguments used in the kitchen were not more ignorant than you may hear any day in a parlour, and at any rate had some personal experience of poverty behind them. But Meadows' point of view came into Priscilla's mind this evening, when she turned on the schoolroom lights and saw that the door of the powdering-closet stood ajar. She pushed it farther open, turned on the light there and saw the piles of fine lingerie that

Miss Adair had bought for her wedding. There was a lace rest-gown that Priscilla had longed to see unfolded, a gown of fine Irish lace made over pale pink ninon. Yesterday Marie had only shown it to her in its box, but now it hung on a hook, so that you could have a good look at it and discover the shape of the sleeves and its cut at the neck. Priscilla's fancy was taken captive. More than anything in the young lady's trousseau, more than any of her presents, she envied the bride this. Suzanne Bellegarde might have worn it when the duke invited her to be his duchess. It was very interesting, Priscilla thought, to find that there really were people in the world who wore such raiment. She took it carefully from the hook and considered its colour and its soft fineness--creamy white, delicate shell-like pink and all that intricacy of mesh and pattern. How poor were the women who made it?--and why was the world such an uneven place where some had more than they wanted and others not enough?Meadows' favourite politician had just told an inflamed and hungry mob that if all the money in the world was equally divided everyone would have a nice little income and the mob had brayed approval of the politician and howled with fury at the name of a millionaire. But even Priscilla could see difficulties the politician left out. Meadows said these would all be easily settled by clever men and women like the politician who made the speech; but Mrs Enfield said Meadows was a good parlourmaid, but a poor reasoner, and it was waste of time to talk to her. Priscilla could not see that talk took you a step further. Here was she, a penniless girl with her bread to earn, and here was the room full of clothes belonging

to the girl with money. You didn't need to be beautiful if you could wrap yourself in this. Suppose she took off her cap and pulled out her hair a little fluffier and put it on a moment. There was no one near to see or hear. All the skivvies were at work, and all the gentlefolk were enjoying themselves. Mr Digby was coming up to have his supper and might surprise her doing what she ought not to do. On the other hand if she looked very pretty, robed like a king's daughter he might--well, he would know what she could look like dressed as a young lady. She took off her cap an apron and slipped into the gown. It was much too big and too long for her and lay all about her feet on the floor. But her pretty arms came out of the loose-hanging sleeves as she loosened her hair and rearranged it a little.The effect was not all she had dreamed it would be. "This is none of I," the glass mocked at her. Alas, she was not like Suzanne Bellegarde, as sinuous as a serpent. She was a small, brisk, pretty girl with doves' eyes, and a sweet, short chin. She looked much prettier with neat hair and a neat cap and apron than in a wrapper that did not fit her and with her hair tousled. However. . . she pricked up her ears. . . she heard voices. . . she heard steps on the stairs. The door into the schoolroom was still ajar, and she shut it softly. As she turned off her light she heard the schoolroom door open and people come into the room. It was Fräulein and Mr Digby. She did not dare to move, and through a chink between the curtain and the wall she could see the supper tray where Mr Digby would presently sit down. Just now she could see neither of them, but she could hear what they said, and she thought it would be amusing: like

having an invisible cloak. She had read of that in fairy tales. But directly Fräulein spoke her voice had a weeping, tragic note in it that made Priscilla feel that she was eavesdropping."You don't ever answer my letters," she said."I wish you would not write them," Mr Digby answered."How can I help it? It is stronger than I am. It must be."Priscilla heard Mr Digby sigh and then he came where she could see him and sat down to supper. He looked dreadfully worried, but he poured out some wine and took up a knife and fork as if he meant to eat."Have you no pity for me?" said Fräulein.Mr Digby put his knife and fork down again. "Yes, I have," he said; "I wish I could help you."Priscilla almost betrayed herself because she was so startled by Fräulein's reply. It sounded like a screech of triumph, and the next moment the unhappy woman came in sight and threw herself on her knees beside Mr Digby's chair. It was horrid, Priscilla told Jane in whispers later. She never told anyone else what she saw that night of folly and self-abandonment. She could not tell Jane everything. She just could not. She saw Fräulein seize Mr Digby's hand and slobber over it. She saw him rise in anger and embarrassment."I adore the earth you tread on," wailed the woman. "I want to kiss your beloved feet.""For heaven's sake get up and be reasonable," cried the man."How can I be reasonable? I have one thought, one wish, one agonized hope to live where I may see you and adore you. I throw myself on your great

heart. I appeal to your generosity. Do you want me to go mad?"Mr Digby did not speak."What can I do? Henceforth I will live under your orders. If you banish me--""I really think--" said Mr Digby, and then he paused.Priscilla could see him, anxious, worn-looking, hesitating. Fräulien had risen and was eyeing him hungrily and sullenly."I think I had better tell you that I am engaged to be married," he said.What happened next Priscilla never could describe coherently. Everything seemed to happen at once. She saw Fräulein snatch up a knife and make a dash forward, at the same time giving another screech that was both a laugh and a cry. As she did so Priscilla, trailing her long gown as best she could after her, burst into the room and tried to get hold of the crazy woman. She saw the knife gleam and turn against herself. She saw Mr Digby get hold of it before it touched her. Then the three people fell away from each other, and for a moment the silence in the room was only broken by Fräulein's struggle for breath. She looked wild and grey and angry, green about the lips and desperate. Priscilla wished she herself could sink into the ground. She felt ashamed of her own part in the scene, and ashamed of the other woman.CHAPTER XVIITHE silence only lasted a moment and then Fräulein turned on Priscilla with thin, viperish fury. Her hands were working nervously, and though her voice came muffled from her choking throat, it came with inflections of hatred and contempt."What are you doing here?" she began."I came up with Mr Digby's supper," said Priscilla, her fingers fumbling with the hooks and loops of her borrowed finery. She spoke sullenly, but that was because Fräulein had spoken to her as if she was an offensive dog."You hid yourself there to listen." Fräulein's accusing hands pointed with a swift gesture to the powdering-closet."You--a servant--you are jealous--you are in love."Priscilla blushed scarlet."I never went there to listen," she protested. "How could I know you were coming? I thought you were dancing downstairs.""Impudent girl--dressed up in Mrs Villiers' gown. Take it off instantly.""I'm getting it off as quickly as I can," said Priscilla, still struggling with the difficult small hooks and eyes."I never saw anything so disgraceful in my life! If Mrs Villiers knew you had worn her gown she would throw it in the fire.""I haven't hurt it," said Priscilla, emerging from her lace and ninon, a little workaday woman in a plain, rather short, black frock. She knew that she had been caught red-handed and was wondering already what the upshot would be."Give it to me," commanded Fräulein, speaking in the same violent tone and tearing the delicate gown out of Priscilla's hands. "Go down to the kitchen and stay where you belong.""I'll come with you," said Mr Digby. "I belong there too.""I see--I see," cried Fräulein, with a new access of temper. "You knew she was there.""He did not," asserted Priscilla bluntly."What is your word worth?""Tell her I'm speaking the truth," cried Priscilla."Certainly, you are speaking the truth," said Mr Digby, with his air of quiet, ironical disdain, and as if he not unnaturally wished to wash his hands of both women, he turned from them and left the room."How dare you say such a thing?" exclaimed Priscilla, when he had gone. She was angry now, and her anger cast out fear. "As if he would! But you don't care what you say, and I'd be ashamed to have your thoughts--if I am only a servant."Then she fled before the livid fury of Fräulein's face and the dismissing gesture of her arm. The supper tray with its untasted food she left behind her, and next morning, when she went into the room to draw up the blinds, it brought back a scene that by the light of day seemed overcharged and monstrous. Yet she knew it had happened as she remembered it, and before the morning went she was to feel its consequences. At twelve o'clock Meadows brought her summons to

the morning-room. Mrs Brinton wished to speak to her.Priscilla went rather white, Meadows observed, but showed no surprise. She put on a clean apron, saw that her cap was tidy and went upstairs. Ten minutes later Jane, who was in Priscilla's confidence and had heard of the unwonted summons, met her on the back stairs. There was no need to ask what had happened: Priscilla's face and brimming eyes told her."Come up to our room," said Jane, and put her arm round her friend."If you go I go too," she said staunchly. "We'll get a place together--where there ain't no schoolroom nor no nursery. They always make trouble.""But I'm to go at once--this afternoon," moaned Priscilla.Jane bristled."What for?" she asked, and then listened to Priscilla's narrative.She hadn't had a chance, she said. Fräulein had sat there all the time while Mrs Brinton had questioned her; and she could not deny that she had been in the powdering-closet, with the light turned on and dressed up in Mrs Villiers' gown."You know how it come about, Jane," wept Priscilla, and of course it was silly, and I wish I'd never seen the ole gown; but it wasn't what they make out.""What do they make out?""I hardly know. Mrs Brinton is very abrupt when she is annoyed. 'Were you there?' she says, and I answered: 'Yes, I was, but--' And then she holds up her hand and says she doesn't want any buts. The facts speak for themselves, and they're disgraceful, and have I any friends in London who'll take me in, and if

not she'll pay my fare home to Daneswick. Then I said 'What about my character?' And she said she'd have to tell the truth about what parted us, because she didn't hold with deceiving employers, and then--Priscilla's tears impeded her speech when she came to the crux of the interview from which she had retired worsted and forlorn."Then I up and told the truth," she blurted out, when she could find a voice."I was hopin' you would," said Jane."It didn't do me no good.""How did you put it?""That Fräulein she sat there like an image, as yellow as wax and as evil as an 'eathen god and never spoke, and so I turned to her and I said, 'You'd never have known I was there if I hadn't run out when you took a knife to Mr Digby.' And she threw up her hands with a gasp, and Mrs Brinton got more abrupt than ever and called me a wicked, eavesdropping girl, and I was to leave the room at once and the house as soon as I could pack my trunks. You see Fräulein has got hold of her somehow, whether she's told the truth or hidden it."Jane felt nonplussed and considered the position serious."Has she paid you?" she asked."Yes. She's treated me fair enough that way. Paid me my month. But she'll never speak fair for me. I could see that plain."The kitchen dinner became a debate on Priscilla's affairs, and bit by bit the details of last night's events leaked out amidst astonished exclamations. The facts as related by Priscilla spoke for themselves, but not as they spoke upstairs."You should have kept quiet and let Mr Digby get

the knife away 'imself," said Mrs Enfield sensibly. "A man doesn't want a girl like you defending him.""Who were the cowards at Llanstumdwy?" asked Meadows. "Not the women. I think Priscilla showed her grit.""But she is a horror, your Prussienne," said Marie. "It is not gay. . . a knife. . . for this poor Monsieur Digby. . . so quiet, so comme il faut.""Well, good-bye, all," said Priscilla, pushing back her chair suddenly. "I'm off."Her four companions rose with her, the young ones hastily, Mrs Enfield with leisurely decision. "Meadows," she said, "jest run up and ask Mrs Brinton to see me a moment."The others looked at her inquiringly."I'm goin' to ask 'er 'oo's goin' to cook the veges and wash-up," she said; and when she had allowed time enough for the delivery of her message she waddled upstairs. Jane and Priscilla waited anxiously for her reappearance, but the moment she entered the kitchen they saw that she had not brought good news."She says it's either Fräulein or Priscilla," she told them at once. "Fräulein has said she would not stay twenty-four hours in the house with Priscilla. I couldn't say Fräulein had better do the veges and wash-up, because she'd be down here in a twinkling, and I'd never get her out again. I spoke up for you, Priscilla. I said we all liked you and wanted you to stay, so she arsked me if we all liked the way you had beyaved last night.""What did you say?""I said we liked some of it. We admired your pluck. 'Oh! you believe that silly, wicked story,' ses she. That's what makes it so bad. That's why I insist on her goin' at once.' 'Why don't you arsk Mr Digby

if it's true?' I made so bold then, but I only set 'er back up. 'Arsk Mr Digby whether a lady had lied and a kitchenmaid spoken the truth!' she ses, in 'er abrupt way. 'I could not trouble 'im about the matter. I wish the girl to go, and there is an end of it. It is quite sufficient for me that she was wearing Mrs Villiers' gown and eavesdroppin' in the powderin'-closet. The other part of the story does not interest me.' Then she ses 'That will do, Enfield.' And I came away. In another minnit I'd have given 'er notice myself.""But it ain't fair," said Jane. "She ought to believe the truth.""Well. . . I got the sack anyway," said Priscilla, trying to speak gaily. "I'm a lady at large. Sorry to leave you all."They were sorry to let her go, they said; and it would serve She right if they left in a bunch as a protest. They stood round Priscilla, their work undone, condoling with her and giving her advice. If she could get a place without applying here for a character it would show spirit, and perhaps be as well. A spiteful character was worse for a girl than none at all, and Mrs Spark would speak for Priscilla; and as Priscilla meant to take shelter there. . . Mrs Enfield agreed that Canonbury Square was better than Tinker's Green, since Priscilla wished to stay in London."We'll meet on Sundays," said Jane, when Priscilla's trunk was packed and it came to saying good-bye. The two girls cried bitterly at parting."When I'm married you'll come and see me Sundays," Jane reminded her friend. "If you'd take Ern we'd live near each other out Hornsey way.""We'd have dear little houses next door to each other with white lace curtains and geraniums in the

window," said Priscilla. "But I'll never marry Ern. Seein' I'm sure of it, p'r'aps I never ought to go near them.""Are you sure of it?"Priscilla nodded."I love him dearly," she said, "but not that way. When I read the Marriage Service and think of standin' up and saying those things to little, freckly Ern, I laugh."Jane said it seemed a pity to throw away such a good chance of a home, and that the day might come when Priscilla regretted it. At the same time she herself wouldn't go to church with a man she didn't respect. Priscilla tried to explain. She did respect Ern's inner man, his nature, his deeds. If only he had been a little more muscular."You'll have a cup o' tea before you go," said Jane, interrupting. A church clock struck four and reminded her that the afternoon was waning and that she had extra work to do that day. At least she supposed she would have to wait on the schoolroom till a new tweeny was found."I shall hate it," she said.Priscilla's eyes were uncomfortably full of tears as she ascended the area steps of the house in the Square for the last time. She had been happy there, and had been on pleasant terms with everyone except Fräulein, and had found her first close friend in Jane. She wandered through the streets leading to Gower Street Station, thinking more of these things than of her direction, and took a wrong turning that led into Gardenia Street. Her trunk was coming to Canonbury Square by carrier, and she only had a small parcel in her hands."What's the matter with you?" said someone

meeting her, and she looked up to see Polly Spiller in her usual conspicuous get-up, in a good humour, rough; ready and out for enjoyment."There's nothin' the matter," said Priscilla coldly."Got the chuck?" Polly was eyeing the brown-paper parcel in Priscilla's hands.Priscilla fenced and evaded and tried to part from Polly. But Polly was not easily put off when her curiosity was roused. She walked to the station beside Priscilla, and wormed something out of her, but not all. There had been a rumpus, and now there would have to be a search for a new place. Meanwhile a little visit to Canonbury Square would be restful and entertaining. No bemoaning of her fate to Polly Spiller, and no intimate revelation in which other people were concerned. Priscilla had some of the instincts of good breeding, mothered as she was by Mrs Day. She would say what she must, but not a word more."We want a housemaid at our place," said Polly. "Wonder if you'd do.""I don't fancy a boardin'-house," said Priscilla."I'm not in a boardin'-house. I've left twenty-seven, I'm at eighteen now, a private house: two in family and three kept. The question is, are you smart enough? You'd have to buck up and fly round. The place suits me. They keep a lot o' company, but I like that. I've had champagne for supper three times this week."Priscilla hesitated. She could not imagine that she would get on as Polly Spiller's fellow-servant."What are you there?" she asked."Parlourmaid. I carve at dinner at a side table. You'd have to help me wait. Can you wait?""I s'pose I could learn as well as anyone else," said Priscilla, wondering what turn the wheel of life would

take next. That Polly Spiller should have gone ahead of her and be wondering if she was smart enough, and whether she could wait!"Oh I could teach you," said Polly loftily. "I'm an excellent waitress."Priscilla said she would remember that the number was eighteen, and would think it over and write tomorrow. Would the lady want a character, or would she take her on Polly's recommendation?"She isn't one of your pryin', pertickler ones," said Polly. "She's free an' easy 'erself. My word! she makes the money fly, and they quarrel awful. But that don't matter to me 'long as I get the champagne."Priscilla said again that she would think of it, and felt determined not to go. She was particular herself and did not want to live with any kind of people. It sometimes seemed like a century since she had landed in London, a little, ignorant, friendless servant girl, and had been ill-treated by the Stokers. She must tell Gertie that she had left Museum Square. Gertie might know of a place."You!" said Mrs Spark, opening the door herself half-an-hour later. "But it isn't a Tuesday.""No," said Priscilla; "it's a Thursday. Can you let me a bedroom for a few days, Mrs Spark?"Mrs Spark's shrewd glance had seen two things she was not used to see when Priscilla came to the house--a parcel under her arm, and the marks of recent tears on her face."Come in," she said, and led the girl downstairs to the basement kitchen. It was a busy hour in the house, when all the city gentlemen had just come home, or would be home directly, as hungry as hunters, said Mrs Spark, and as thirsty as if the city was the African desert. The

kitchen was a scene of warmth, clatter and bustle. Whether they called it dinner or supper it wanted cooking and serving, except for a poor young man high up who could only afford an egg and a cup of tea."Sometimes when Mr Billman has a pound of sausages I nick a little one and send it up with the egg," said Mrs Spark, who was turning sausages in a pan. "The poor chap isn't much older than Ern, and if it's stealin', my conscience'll bear it. He's going to have one o' these to-night. Now, Susie, quick with those potatoes; and then run up and lay Mr Billman's cloth. There's everything ready on that tray."Susie's a good enough girl, but inquisitive," Mrs Spark went on when her handmaid had departed with the tray. "Yes, my dear, those slices want toastin', and you can do them. And now tell me why you've been cryin', and what brings you here.""We had a weddin' at our place yesterday," began Priscilla."Yes. I remember.""And at night, when all dancin' downstairs, I carried Mr Digby's supper up to the schoolroom.""Who is Mr Digby?""He's that gentleman cook me and Ern can't agree about. Ern says if he's a cook he isn't a gentleman, and I say he is.""Well, you know'im, and Ern doesn't. What next?""There's a little room openin' out of the schoolroom they call the powderin'-closet, and it was full of the bride's wedding clothes.""What they call it that for?""Dunno. It has a little window place with a curtain, and you can see into the schoolroom. Well, I got

lookin' at Miss Adair's things, and I dressed myself up in a lace gown.""Done it myself orfen," commented Mrs Spark. "But it's risky.""Then all of a sudden they come upstairs.""Who?""Mr Digby and Fräulein."The sausages were done, and Mrs Spark was arranging them neatly (all but one) on Priscilla's big square of toast. Susie came to and fro, taking things upstairs and bringing empty trays down."What's Fräulein like to look at?" asked Mrs Spark, during one of Susie's absences."An image," said Priscilla. "Her mouth looks as if it was full of plums and wouldn't shut; and her eyes go up like a dyin' duck's; and her hair is niggerish, and so is her skin; and she's fat and sloppy.""Sounds attractive," said Mrs Spark. "But we don't make ourselves, Priscilla, and some of us are ugly and some of us aren't, and those who aren't should be thankful but not stuck up."Mrs Spark had never spoken as sharply as this to Priscilla before, and the girl wondered at once whether anyone had been telling Ern's devoted mother that he was finding his freckles and his stature obstacles in the course of love."Ugly or pretty we can behave ourselves," Priscilla said sententiously. "I wouldn't carry on like Fräulein if there was one man in the world and I wanted him. I'd be ashamed.""How did she carry on?" asked Mrs Spark, who was now engaged in grilling a steak for the ground floor."Shameful," was Priscilla's verdict. She did not

go into particulars, but when the steak had been turned and she had Mrs Spark's ear again, she said:"I rushed out of the powderin'-closet because she snatched up a knife and went for him."It is greatly to Mrs Spark's credit that the steak was done to a turn, although Priscilla's story was taking such lurid and amazing colours."It's Fräulein she ought to have chucked," she said, when she had heard the whole of it."So I come straight here," ended Priscilla. "I can get a better place bein' in London than writin' from home, especially if there's goin' to be a hitch about my character. You'd speak for me, wouldn't you, Mrs Spark?""I would if it was any use," said Mrs Spark. Her manner puzzled Priscilla and almost made her uneasy."Sure you've room for me?" she asked."You can 'ave the little bed in my room while you stay," said Mrs Spark, and she spoke, Priscilla thought, unwillingly."Don't you want me?" cried the girl, springing to her feet. "What's the matter?""Well," said Mrs Spark deliberately, "it's like this. Sit down, my dear. You'll stay to-night any way, and we'll see about to-morrow. I want you if you're goin' to be nice to Ern, but I've seen 'im 'eartbroken once and I don't wish it to occur again. 'E says he can't get a yes out of you.""Why can't we all jest be friends?" asked Priscilla, her lip quivering. "Have I got to give you up or else marry Ern, Mrs Spark?"At that moment both women heard Em's step on, the stairs. They looked at each other as he entered the kitchen.CHAPTER XVIIITHERE was no doubt of Priscilla's welcome as far as Ern was concerned. "The longer you stay the better we shall be pleased," he assured her, when he had heard her story. "It's a pleasure to both of us to see you here. What is there for supper, mother?"Mrs Spark's bill of fare did not satisfy Ern now that Priscilla had arrived, and he insisted on fetching something tasty from the nearest cook-shop in the High Street. He asked her to accompany him."Don't you be in any hurry," he said, as they strolled through the Square together. "It'll do you good to have a bit of a rest."Priscilla thanked him, but made no promises. She did not tell him what his mother had said, because she did not want to make mischief, but she thought about it even more than she thought of the people in Museum Square. Life had suddenly taken her past most of them, as it had taken her past the Vicarage and Daneswick, as it had delivered her from the Stokers and the family of thirteen in Boadicea Road. After vexing her spirit, and wearying her bones for more than a year, Fräulein had become such stuff as dreams are made of, and so, she supposed, had Mr Digby. She would probably never see him again. Her trade of service had this curious quality of throwing her into close daily relationship with people and then taking her completely from them. Every change, too, meant a

change of surroundings for better or for worse. "I never know where I'll be next, or what kind of folk I'll happen on," she said to herself, "and the people who last, like my own people and the Masters, I never see. I hope I won't lose Jane. Shouldn't wonder if the Sparks and me parted before long; and I'd be sorry for that."But Ern must have spoken to his mother, Priscilla thought, for the next day Mrs Spark changed her tone, and told the girl she was to stay with them till she got a place. Priscilla hoped this would be the affair of a day or two, and said so. But at the end of a fortnight she still had nothing in view. Two ladies who offered good wages and conditions refused her after seeing Mrs Brinton, while others, when they heard there was some hitch about her character, showed her the door at once. The third lady who asked Mrs Brinton for an appointment was refused one curtly. Priscilla began to understand that she was not so well rid of Fräulein as she thought. Her word was believed in Museum Square, and she was having her revenge. As a rule employers are on the side of leniency, and not always from merciful motives. It is easier to speak once and forever about a departing servant than to be ruffled by repeated applications, either person or written. But here and there a servant suffers Priscilla suffered now, and sometimes with still less cause. The remedy is not easy to devise. Certainly no friend of servants would wish to bring the German system to this country of written characters in a book under police supervision. A well-known German novelist tells the story of a girl who refused the dishonourable advances of the son of the house, was discovered by him stealing cakes, was dismissed as

dishonest and could never get a respectable place again. Of course she ought not to have stolen the cakes, and Priscilla ought not to have tried on the bride's clothes. Sometimes the good old days when a mistress would box a girl's ears when she deserved it, but did not send her adrift, seem more humane than our own enlightened democratic times. On Sunday Jane and Albert came to Canonbury Square to see the Sparks and Priscilla, and Jane shed more light on Mrs Brinton's stern attitude."That gown you had on is all torn and soiled," she related. "Marie says Mrs Brinton is furious about it, and tells the ladies as comes for your character, and they go away thanking her for saving them from such a dreadful person. You know Marie. She doesn't mind listenin' at a keyhole, and it's wonderful the way she can follow, though she speaks such bad English.""I don't wonder it's torn," said Priscilla. "Fräulein got hold of it like a madwoman. She'd have had the knife in me if Mr Digby hadn't got it away.""Mr Digby ought to come forward and tell the truth," said Ern. "If he was the gentleman you make out, he would.""How can he when he doesn't know a word about it?" said Priscilla."He ought to be told."Mrs Spark thought it might be a good thing to do, but Jane doubted if it would make much difference. Priscilla had been caught wearing the bride's gown, and that was what Mrs Brinton charged her with. Mr Digby couldn't clear her of that even if he wanted to."It's just a bit of bad luck--her begin' caught," she said. "You might do it twenty times and no one any the wiser."It was very odd, Priscilla found, to see Jane and hear her familiar talk about the household in Museum Square, and realize that its doors were closed on her. There had been letters from the bride and bridegroom, and all was well with them. Fräulein did not nag at Jane, as she had done at Priscilla. Jane opined that she knew better. The young ladies said they were sorry that Priscilla had gone. A new tweeny was coming in next week. Fräulein looked that bad the doctor had been called in to her. He said it was nerves, and gave her a bottle of medicine that smelt horrid. Jane believed it was the wedding and nothing else that upset her."As how?" asked Ern. But Jane would not explain. She laughed and said she had addressed herself to Mrs Spark, who could take her meaning without asking a lot of silly questions. After tea she took her departure with Albert, leaving Priscilla rather depressed."It's all very well," she said. "I got to find another place; I can't stay here for ever.""I wish you would," said Ern. "Marry me and stay here and help mother. P'r'aps we could do without Susie then. But that's as you like. I'm not sure that I'd want you to be runnin' up and waitin' on all the gentlemen."Priscilla hardly answered, but she heard and only felt more determined than before to get a place before the week was out. The nice little home Hornsey way would have had attractions, but she had no wish to help her mother-in-law keep a lodging-house. If Ern thought a girl would like to do that, he'd find himself mistaken. She hated the kitchen and wondered how Mrs Spark could live in it so cheerfully. The hut on Tinker's Green was pleasanter. You did

know when it was a summer day there, if you left the outer door open, and you had the common all round you. Certainly it was amusing to do Mrs Spark's shopping in the High Street, but the shop windows were tantalizing when you had very little money and did not know yet when more was coming. On Tuesday, when the registry official had told Priscilla curtly that if she could not have a character she could not expect to pick and choose a place, she went to the back door of No. 18 Gardenia Street, and asked if Miss Spiller was at home. A bedraggled-looking charwoman had opened the door and left Priscilla standing in the area while she went to inquire. In a short time Polly herself appeared, looking better in her black frock and white cap and apron than Priscilla had thought possible. Her hair was puffed out in an exaggerated fashion that Priscilla had heard Meadows call "Gardenia Street," and it was unimaginable that such a coiffure would ever wait at Mrs Brinton's table. But Priscilla had not come there in a mood to boggle at trifles: she wanted a roof to her head, and wages."I didn't write," she began."Come along in," said Polly, with her accustomed good humour, and she led Priscilla into the kitchen, which was big and warm and untidy. In fact the kitchen dinner had not been cleared yet, and at one end of it a tousled young woman sat with both elbows on the table, sleepily telling fortunes with a dirty pack of cards."Wake up, Cherry-Blossom," cried Polly, giving her a smack on the shoulder. "'Ere's a visitor, and it's nearly tea-time. This is my friend, Miss Day." Then as the cook looked up Polly turned to Priscilla and performed the other side of the introduction."Miss Blossom," she said, "head bottlewasher in this establishment, otherwise cook.""The dark young man. . . pleased to see you," said Miss Blossom, talking to both girls at once. . . " the dark young man 'as come into a large fortune, but is threatened by a grave illness. . . . You will shortly take a journey. . . it's never four o'clock yet. . . and all them things not washed up. . . Mrs Pouch'll have to do them then. . . . I can't do more than I can, and we're short-'anded, and have been for a fortnight.""That's what I came about," said Priscilla."Thought you came to see me," said Polly archly."I'm still out of place," said Priscilla.Cherry-Blossom was getting the kitchen tea ready in her simple way by shoving the dinner things to one side of the table and putting a teapot and cups on the clear space. Then she went into the larder and reappeared with a bag full of shrimps, a leaf, and a pat of butter. She emptied nearly all the shrimps on to a plate and put the bag with the remaining ones on the dresser."She will 'ave shrimp sauce with boiled fish," she said, "but she don't get many shrimps out of me. I can't be bothered to peel them unless it's for my own tea. Are you ready, Polly?"Polly said she was quite ready, and that she liked to get her own tea comfortable before the fag of taking tea upstairs. She was at home to-day, worse luck, and, Polly supposed, would want some."What is the lady's name?" asked Priscilla.Cherry-Blossom and Polly looked at each other wit a significance Priscilla did not understand."She calls herself Mrs Clarence," said Polly, "but whether she has a right to is more than I can tell you.""Isn't she married to Mr Clarence then?""She was, but he divorced her.""But--"Priscilla blushed, and the other women laughed."Don't ask questions and you won't get stories told," jeered Polly. "What's it matter to us down here? We ask high wages and don't overwork ourselves, and she shuts her eyes to a lot. I'd a sight rather live here than in a parsonage, I can tell you. When I take up tea I'll recommend you if you're good as a pertickler friend o' mine. She's a real lady. At least she was born one."Priscilla felt troubled and undecided. However, when Polly went up with the drawing-room tea, she had made up her mind that she might as well see Mrs Clarence now that she was here. She could refuse the situation by letter if she did not fancy it."She'll see you," Polly announced, when she came down. "You've to go up when the bell rings."The house, when Priscilla went up ten minutes later, seemed to her badly kept. There were stains and tobacco ash on the Axminster stair-carpet and dusty tables in the hall. The drawing-rooms occupied the whole of the first floor, and the first impression they made was one of colour and luxury. The curtains were rose-pink velvet, and in the centre of the room there was a divan to match them. On this a lady lolled, with a tea-table close to her and a tiny toy terrier by her side. Her hands were flashing with diamonds; she wore a loose gown rather like the one that had been the cause of trouble in Museum Square, and she had several rows of pearls round her neck. Just beyond her there was a table holding books and also a great jar of big white lilies that filled the room with their perfume. The

room was rather crowded with furniture and knickknacks, but as Priscilla stood at the door she could see that here, too, some good housemaiding was badly wanted. It would be a beautiful room to do, she thought."Spiller tells me you want a housemaid's place," said the lady, looking at Priscilla. She spoke with a drawl, and as if she was tired; but her voice was low and refined."If you please, m'm," said Priscilla."I want a housemaid.""Yes, m'm."Priscilla waited near the door, expecting the usual string of questions, and having her answers as well as her own questions ready in her mind. A glimpse of the room and of the lady made her ardently desire to come: so did the clinging, delicious scent of the lilies. But the questions she expected were not asked. The lady took the tiny dog on her lap and began to feed it with scraps of cake. Then she lifted her languorous eyes to Priscilla and said:"Can you come to-morrow?""I'm out of place, m'm," said Priscilla, and plucked up courage to ask what wages Mrs Clarence gave."I thought Spiller would have told you all that," said the lady. "I expect she knows what the last one had. Mr Klosters pays the wages. I've nothing to do with them. I understand that you can't have a character from your last place, but Spiller guarantees your honesty.""Yes, m'm," said Priscilla, thinking that things had indeed come to a pretty pass with her. "I'm honest and I'm respectable."The lady's eyelashes quivered slightly, and her hand

was arrested a moment in front of the dog. It gave a little leap forward to get the morsel it saw, but could not reach it, and nearly upset the things on the silver tea-tray."That will do," said Mrs Clarence, dismissing Priscilla. "I wish you'd take this tray down with you. I shall have no peace till it's gone."Priscilla arrived in the kitchen with the tray and with the news that she could come to-morrow if she liked; but she wanted to know what her duties would be, and what wages she would receive."Why didn't you ask?" said Polly, who was trimming a hat at a side table. As the kitchen gas did not give her all the light she needed, she had lighted four half-burnt wax candles in a silver candelabrum."She didn't seem to know," said Priscilla. "She said Mr Klosters paid our wages.""Twenty-four pounds the housemaid has in this house," said Cherry-Blossom, looking up from her cards. "Not much either for the work she has to do. It's the stairs make it 'ard. I can't get rid of that dark young man to-day, Polly. I'm sure there's somethin' in it."The charwoman sat at tea now and said it was wonderful what the cards would tell you if you trusted them. She always had said there was something in it since she had had a journey and a death foretold and the very next week had been asked to an aunt's funeral at Highgate. Cherry-Blossom offered to lay them there and then for Priscilla to find out what her luck would be if she came to live here, but Priscilla said she could not wait. She must get back at once, and she would write to Polly to-night and tell her for certain whether she took the place or not."You don't mean to say you're in two minds?" said Polly. "I thought I was doin' you a turn."Priscilla expressed the gratitude she really felt, but could not express her reasons for hesitation. She wanted to come; she did not know where else to go; and yet at the back of her mind she half believed that she ought to run home to Tinker's Green rather than do it. When she got back to Canonbury Square she went down the area steps, and let herself in at the back door, which was sometimes left unlocked; and as she walked on to the kitchen she heard Mrs Spark say to Ern, "I wish you'd never seen her, that I do." In fact the words were hardly out of Mrs Spark's mouth when Priscilla appeared at the door of the kitchen, looking whiter than usual, and on edge with flurry and trouble."Meanin' me?" she said, looking round first to make sure Susie was not there."Now you've done it, mother!" cried Ern, and he buried his head in his arms, which were on the table."I can't help it," said Mrs Spark, who was in the usual bustle of her evening work. "I didn't suppose Priscilla was there; but she knows how I come to say it, and if she bears me a grudge--""I don't. . . I don't!" exclaimed Priscilla. "No one has ever been so kind to me as you and Ern." She had to stop a minute before she went on, because speech had become difficult."I've got a place, and I'm goin' to it to-morrow," she said.CHAPTER XIXLIFE below stairs in Gardenia Street was easy and hilarious, but from the first Priscilla felt uncomfortable there."What time do we get up?" she asked the night she arrived."When we wake," answered Polly."But what time is breakfast? And what work have I got to do first thing?""Time was made for 'slaves," said Cherry Blossom, who was stirring something in a saucepan that turned out to be a Welsh rabbit for the kitchen supper. The upstairs people were dining out, so the kitchen should have been clean and tidy. But it was not."They never want breakfast before ten. That's early in this house," instructed Polly. "We do the rooms amongst us, just as it suits. You're supposed to do the stairs. We have Mrs Pouch every day but Sunday, because we said we couldn't manage without her. She lets herself in and lights the kitchen fire and gets our breakfast, and then she does a little cleanin' upstairs. She does our work mornin's, and Cherry Blossom's of an afternoon.""What do we do then?" asked Priscilla."I make all my own clothes," said Polly. "I always got plenty to do. Besides, I 'elp 'er to dress, and I wait at table. There's the glass and silver too. When Mrs Pouch does them you'd say a London fog 'ad got them."Priscilla enjoyed the Welsh rabbit, but found when she went upstairs that her bed was as the last occupant had left it. She had an attic to herself, and no one had thought of getting it ready for her. When she went down in the morning Mrs Pouch was frying sausages for the kitchen breakfast, but the cook and the parlourmaid were not down yet. When they appeared they looked as if they had not touched soap and water or a comb, and they were both yawning still. By that time Priscilla had set the drawing-room to rights and swept down the stairs."What lovely flowers there are in the drawing-room," she said."Sirrenry sends those," said Polly."Who is Sir Henry?""One of Mrs Clarence's friends."Priscilla soon knew more about Sirrenry. He came when Mr Klosters was out, and stayed for hours. Sometimes a luxurious little lunch was prepared for him; sometimes Mrs Clarence and he went out to lunch. Sometimes he did not come at all, but then a man known downstairs as "his Lordship" came. Mrs Clarence was never lonely, and yet when Priscilla was helping to wait at dinner once Mr Klosters alluded jokingly to the lady's solitary days, and apologized for being away so much. He had to bring grist to the mill, he said."What you must spend on flowers would keep a family," he complained. But they said downstairs that Mrs Clarence never spent a penny on flowers. They were all sent by his Lordship and Sirrenry.By the time Priscilla had been there a week she wished heartily that she had never come, and began to wonder how she could get away again. For the first two days the disorder in the house had dismayed her, but she had

been fascinated by Mrs Clarence. She was like the wicked heroines in Priscilla's favourite romances, the women who enslave men and ruin them. She brushed her hair with a real gold brush. All the things on her toilet-table were of gold, and some had a monogram in diamonds. She had great bunches of violets in her bedroom. It was big and luxurious. She had the kind of clothes you read of in fashion articles, wonderful clothes, such as Priscilla had never dreamed of. Polly showed her one gown of thin thin gold, woven gauze or silk. The girls did not know which it was, but the threads were gold, and little jewels were sewn all over it."She wears a diamond crown with it and an ermine coat as cost a thousand pounds," said Polly. "It's well to be 'er."But was it well? And how did Polly know what the coat cost?"Because I 'eard 'er and 'im quarrellin' about it," said Polly. "'E said she shouldn't keep it, but 'e 'as no say. My belief is 'e won't keep 'er long. Sirrenry's 'er game."There was glamour about Mrs Clarence: the glamour of birth, money and wickedness: all three left out of Priscilla's fate from beginning to end. She was plebeian, poor and respectable; and her respectability was one of the tools of her livelihood. No real lady would take her with a month's character from Mrs Clarence, and no character at all before that."I shall leave at my month," she said to Polly at the end of a week."More fool you," said Polly, and persuaded her not to say so to Mrs Clarence yet.She had been a silly to come, she said to herself. She ought to have known that taking up with Polly Spiller

would lead to no good. It would have been more sensible to put her pride in her pocket and take some small place in Islington on Mrs Spark's recommendation. She could probably have made a new start that way. But now she did not go to Canonbury Square. She had definitely broken with Ern, and had no one to walk out with on her Sundays and week evenings: unless she followed in Polly's footsteps and took up with strangers. She really did not know where Polly drew the line, or Blossom either. Sometimes men of their own class came in to the kitchen supper and to high jinks after. Priscilla wondered the noise they made was not heard upstairs and stopped."She daren't do it," said Polly, all the snub features of her common, handsome face in the air; and Blossom took that line too. "She" was in their hands. If she interfered too much they'd tell about his Lordship and Sirrenry. But they complained that Priscilla was a spoil-sport and a prude."What's a kiss?" asked Polly.This time the offenders had not been their friends, but some of Mrs Clarence's gentlemen in evening dress, who had invaded the kitchen in the small hours to forage, they said, for food. They were all ravenous upstairs, and there was nothing to eat, and Mrs Clarence had sent them, saying the maids were all in bed. But the maids had had a supper and card party themselves, and had only just got rid of their guests. One of them had been an elderly man, that very Timothy Higgins who had frightened Priscilla's sleep years ago. He frightened her still with his furtive glances and look of a gaol-bird. He had a brutal jaw and a mouth like a trap; but Polly said he was a useful friend sometimes. He knew his way about London more completely than she did her-

self, and if he had cheated at cards it had only been his joke. Then Sirrenry and the others had tumbled in, and Priscilla, escaping from attentions she did not desire, had a shock. She had run upstairs into a little back room, furnished but never used, and as she shut herself in she heard a movement and the hoarse voice of Mr Higgins saying cautiously: "That you!" She found the light and switched it on, her heart beating with fright, and her fingers trembling. Mr Higgins stood at the open window, and when he saw Priscilla he advanced with such a threatening face that at first she thought he meant to spring at her. Then he stopped short and tried to look harmless and friendly."I want a word with Polly," he said."I'll tell her," said Priscilla, and escaped. She found the kitchen still invaded, but she managed to get Polly aside and whisper to her that Mr Higgins was concealed in the library and wanted to see her. Polly's face was a study in chagrin and surprise."Go and tell him he must wait," she said."I won't go near him," said Priscilla. "He's no business to be there.""How did he get there? I let 'im out at the back door. You saw me.""The window's wide open. Anyone could climb in or out of that window.""It'll be some nonsense about Sunday," said Polly. "Wants to take me to 'Ampton Court."The kitchen seemed to be full of people all helping to make sandwiches and get in each other's way. Blossom carved a ham, Priscilla began to cut bread and butter, the man she had run away from stood near her with a mustard-pot and asked her why she was so hard-hearted. She scarcely noticed that Polly

was absent for a short time, and then came in again. It was three o'clock before anyone got to bed, and it was at breakfast that Polly called Priscilla a prude."What became of Mr Higgins?" asked Priscilla.Polly said she soon got rid of him, and had bolted the window after him. Someone very careless must have left it open."I never go near that room," said Priscilla. "I didn't think anyone did. What put it in his head to hide there of all places?""You arsk 'im next time you see 'im," said Polly.But Priscilla never saw him again, although she always felt certain that he was connected with the events of the following day, and the theft of Mrs Clarence's bracelet. They were all nearly asleep over the kitchen fire when it was discovered early in the afternoon. An electric bell rang sharply in their ears. The indicator pointed to Mrs Clarence's bedroom, and Polly, without saying a word, went to answer it. The other two rubbed their eyes, and Blossom looked at the litter of dirty pans and dishes on the table, the top of the grate and the floor. Mrs Pouch had not arrived to-day, so the work was even more behind-hand than usual."Come along," said Priscilla. "I'll help you.""We'll never get through all these," said Blossom, with a yawn."We sha'n't if you sit there and grouse," said Priscilla. "I'm not going to do your work unless you help. Buck up and carry these things into the scullery."She was scraping plates and dishes clean, and putting them in piles ready to wash. Blossom, still yawning,

took an enamelled saucepan off the grate and looked at it."That'll never come right again," she said. "I shall throw it away.""I wonder how many you've burnt since I came," said Priscilla."Good for trade anyway," said Blossom.Then to their amazement the kitchen door opened, and Mrs Clarence herself stood there, with Polly behind her. Blossom was so put out and astonished that she dropped the saucepan she was holding gingerly. It fell with a clatter on the floor. Mrs Clarence looked white and angry, but she looked frightened too. Polly looked red and impudent and excited."My diamond bracelet has been stolen," said Mrs Clarence, going straight to the point."I say it's mislaid," said Polly.Priscilla looked up in alarm. Blossom stood stock-still and stared hard at Polly."If it's mislaid why don't you 'unt till you find it?" she said.Priscilla felt a queer, trembling horror in her toes and an inclination to give at her knees. She went on gently scraping the plate in her hands, too much frightened to speak or even to think coherently. Suppose the police arrived and found the bracelet hidden in her box. That was what usually happened, and the police never seemed to learn by experience that when you found things in an unlocked box the owner was innocent. Indeed innocence would be difficult to prove in such a case. She could not say she did not know where the bracelet was kept, because she had helped Mrs Clarence dress on Polly's last day out, and had seen it taken from a

wardrobe drawer. Mrs Clarence had no safe for her jewels."It is stolen," said Mrs Clarence, looking from one girl to the other. "Yesterday before dinner it was in its place. I saw it there.""It's very unpleasant," said Blossom, bridling."I must have it back," said Mrs Clarence. "If Mr Klosters knew it was stolen the police would be here at once.""We don't any of us want police about," said Polly. "They ask a lot of questions, and one word gives another."There was a challenge and an insolence in her tone that shocked Priscilla. She saw Mrs Clarence blanch and falter before it."I must get it back," she said, but she spoke with less assurance than before."I wish to leave this day month," said Blossom. "I don't like the goin's-on 'ere. I'm easy myself, but this is a bit too thick. I'm honest.""I've not accused anyone," said Mrs Clarence, "but the bracelet is gone.""The question is, 'oo took it?" said Polly."I'll leave at the end of my month," said Priscilla.She felt sorry for Mrs Clarence though. She was beautiful and a lady born. Yet to such a pass had she brought her life that she was in the hands of a woman like Polly Spiller. Priscilla made a vow as she scraped her plates. If she got safely away this time she would have no more dealings with Polly, whatever happened."I call it a shame to come down 'ere 'inting and accusin' us girls," Polly was saying, in a shrill, scolding voice. "'Oo was 'ere last night? 'Oo were they? I'd never seen most of 'em before. . . drinkin' and

playin' cards 'arf the night. . . and then stormin' down 'ere wantin' meat at three o'clock in the mornin'. Likely as not it was a put-up thing and some of them slipped upstairs. . . I won't say they did or they didn't. My belief is it's in a pawnshop, where lots of the joolry goes ladies says is stolen. I'll leave this day month too, and I'll 'ave my charicter or know the reason why."Mrs Clarence did not speak a word. She turned her back on the three of them (lumpin' us all together, thought Priscilla bitterly) and went slowly upstairs. A constrained, unfriendly silence prevailed in the kitchen. It was broken by Priscilla."I'm goin' upstairs to make sure the thief hasn't put it in my things," she said, addressing Blossom. "That's what they do.""Whatever for?" asked Blossom."Why, to put the guilt on someone else, of course.""She's dotty," said Polly, turning with an ingratiating air to Blossom: but for once Blossom looked stolidly away. Priscilla ran upstairs and looked in every corner of her room, in every drawer, and right through her trunk for the missing bracelet. She sat on the floor amidst her possessions, and was packing some in the trunk again when Blossom knocked and came into the room."Found it?" she asked."No. Thanks be. I've looked everywhere, even up the chimney. Have you looked in your room?""I'm not goin' to. She knows a trick worth two of that."Priscilla looked up. Both girls were pale and disturbed. Blossom's appearance was a queer mixture of tragedy and farce, for her cap was awry, her wispy

hair dishevelled, and her apron dirty; but her eyes showed how angry she was."It's that Polly," she said."I know it is," said Priscilla."Well I never. 'Ow do you know?""It's Polly and Tim Higgins. He's been in prison times an' times.""An' you let 'im come to supper. . . an' I was 'is partner at bridge. P'r'aps you're in it too."Priscilla got up, her whole body convulsed with rage, her doves' eyes darting lights of angry denial."How dare you!" she cried. "Me! Why, at home we wouldn't speak to him, or to Polly Spiller hardly. My father and mother are respectable. If they knowed I was in this house. . . they'd kill me. Higgins was waitin' in the library las' night for Polly to bring him the bracelet. I found him there with the window open, when that Mr Victor ran after me and I got away. I won't stay here another day, I won't. And I'm going straight to Mrs Clarence now to tell her all I know, let what may come of it.""Polly'll murder you if you do.""I don't care that for Polly.""P'r'aps not; but she ain't done you no 'arm and she got you this plyce when you wanted one. I don't 'old with sneaks, so I'll say good-afternoon.""I got to clear myself," said Priscilla."Wait till you're suspected, silly. I was only in fun just now. If you go speakin' to Mrs Clarence you may get poor Polly five years 'ard. Leave things alone. That's my motto. Mrs Clarence won't act unless someone drives her to.""Why not?""Because Polly knows a thing or two. This estab-

lishment would vanish like smoke if Polly and me didn't 'old our tongues.""I wish I'd never come to it," said Priscilla."So do I," said Blossom. "You mustn't suppose I approve of Polly, but I'd rather be a thief than a telltale anyhow."CHAPTER XXBLOSSOM'S counsel prevailed, because the cooler Priscilla became the more clearly she saw that without the help of the police she could make the charge; but not prove it. She had not seen the bracelet in Polly's hands."While they were about it, why didn't they steal the tirer?" she said to Blossom. "I've heard Mr Klosters say it was worth thousands.""Yes; and he'd know if it was stolen. Bound to. The perlice 'ud be 'ere in a jiffy then. But 'e won't miss a bracelet.""Isn't she artful?" said Priscilla."And brazen. You see, my 'ands are tied. She could say a lot o' little things about me if she turned nasty. I never 'ave minded takin' a bit o' food from them as don't miss it and givin' it to a pore widder like my sister with five mouths to fill on charin'. I'll face the judgment Day on that because, if I don't pay for it in one way, I do in another. I 'ave to bear all the nasty, suspicious remarks they make. I've never known any lady carry on worse about the books than Mr Klosters. Fifty pounds for groceries don't go as far as you'd think when we live as we do 'ere, and 'elp a few outside. Mrs Pouch, for instance. I done 'er a lot o' good since I come, an' she says those above show us the way. Rob Peter to 'elp Paul is. England's watchword now! But joolry and money I've kept my 'ands from always.""I wish I could walk straight out of the house," said Priscilla. "I would if I had any money and knew where to go.""I can't 'elp you with money," said Blossom. "I 'aven't five bob myself. But the moment I set eyes on you I said to Polly, 'You no business to bring that kid into an 'ouse like this.' More she 'ad. I'm not pertickler, because I must take it easy. I should be broken-'earted in a strict sort of 'ouse wantin' early bath-water and 'ome at ten. Well. . . we got to go down some time and pertend nothin' 'as 'appened. We can't stay up 'ere all day, and I'm wantin' my tea.""I'll come with you," said Priscilla. She felt shaken and chilly. She dreaded the sight of Polly, and the sight of the disorderly, comfortless kitchen. She wished she could run home to Tinker's Green; but she hardly had the fare there in her pocket, and she had always vowed she would not go till she could pay for her keep, and give some help too.There were no back stairs in the house, and, as Blossom and she went down, they had to pass Mrs Clarence, who was at the telephone on the first-floor landing. She held up her hand to stop them a moment, while she listened. "Now, at once. . . as quick as you can," she said in answer, listened again, and then put the receiver down. Then she went into the drawing-room, without looking at the two maids or speaking to them. She wore one of the loose Japanese-looking gowns that are so picturesque when the woman who wears them is slim and graceful, and when they are well cut. It was of soft thick satin, pale pink, and clinging to her over an underskirt of lace. Priscilla watched her move slowly into her rose-coloured room. The scent of her big lilies came through the open door. Although

she was so beautiful, and had such expensive, beautiful things, she always looked unhappy. To-day she looked white and strained with trouble, but that was not surprising. She must be in a dilemma about Polly, must feel that it was unbearable to keep her, and difficult to send her away. Priscilla wondered what would happen next."Do you think she has sent for Mr Klosters?" she said to Blossom, when they got to the kitchen stairs."Not likely.""Are you two never comin' to tea? cried Polly's shrill, powerful voice from the kitchen. "The muffins are gettin' 'ard.""'Oo toasted 'em?'" said Blossom, in a mollified voice, when she saw that the dirty plates and dishes had been piled on a side table, and a comfortable tea; offering jam, cake and muffins, spread for three on the middle one."I did," said Polly. "I want my tea. I 'ates a rumpus. I'm not goin' to move for anyone now, not till I've 'ad three cups and a couple o' muffins."But just after she had demolished one muffin the front-door bell rang. It was Polly's place to answer it; but she did not move."Let 'im ring again," she said. "Do 'im good. I'm sick of the sound of that bell.""I'll go," said Priscilla, and, as she was light and swift in her movements, she was half-way up the kitchen stairs before Polly, with her mouth full of muffin, could raise an objection."It was Sir Henry," she said, answering the question in Blossom's eye, when she came down again."Thought so," said Blossom.Polly rose suddenly from her unfinished tea and, without saying a word, went out of the kitchen. They heard her ascend the stairs. Blossom did not look surprised, but Priscilla was puzzled."What's she after?" she said."Key'oles," said Blossom indifferently. "It's a wonder to me she's never bin caught. Not that she'd mind pertickler if she was."But when Polly came down again they both saw that she had minded something for once. She looked mottled with rage and mortification."You're to take tea upstairs," she said to Priscilla; and sat down again, with a bang of her chair on the floor."What's 'appening?" said Blossom, all agog with curiosity.But Polly had turned sulky, and would not say. She ate another muffin, and she drank a third cup of tea, in silence. Priscilla had gone upstairs with the drawing-room tea, and Blossom was supposin' someone would have to wash-up and cook some dinner when Polly said suddenly:"I'd give somethin' to be able to stick a knife into that there Sirrenry.""What's he done?" asked Blossom."Spoilt my game.""As 'ow?""Ye'll see soon. Things'll 'appen as you don't expect.""I thought they would," said Blossom. "I thought she'd show fight.""There ain't arf-an-ounce o' fight in 'er," said Polly scornfully.Blossom was muddling about between kitchen and

scullery now, clearing away before she began to cook the dinner. She was going to leave the washing-up for Mrs Pouch to do next day, she said. She had fish and game and a savoury to prepare. The sweet was ready; and she was going to give them soup out of a tin."If it wasn't for tins I don't think I could be a cook," she said. "Friends in need, I call 'em. Did I ever tell you what 'appened with the dog in my last place?""I don't remember," said Polly inattentively. She was sitting with her toes on the fender, but the door stood wide open, and she was straining to hear sounds upstairs. But none reached her."I'd 'ad 'ad nothin' but complaints about my clear and gravy. I was fed up with the fag of makin' them and then 'earing the master say they was dish-water. Ungrateful lot they were. So I bought some tins, and told the grocer to put 'em down as tea. She was new married and had no more idea than a baby what we used. I opened two of the tins and warmed them, and set the tureen on the floor, because the tables were all cluttered up. Then I went into the larder to fetch the fish, and when I came back there was the dog 'aving his dinner out of the tureen. Oxtail soup it was, and 'e'd fished out most of the bits of meat. There was only one 'e'd just got 'old of as I could put back again.""Pleasant for the master," said Polly."Well. . . it was," said Blossom. "A message come down as the soup was better nor usual, and 'e'd have the same kind to-morrow. Of course I never told 'em, and I didn't let the dog get it again. 'E was a nice dog, though. 'E 'ad some kidneys once I'd just put on the floor in an 'urry. That was orkward. I 'ad to say they never came, and the butcher said 'e'd sent 'em. I

gave notice, because she seemed to doubt my word. I said I'd never been used to that.""You do gabble," said Polly irritably. "I want to know what they are doin' upstairs. Why don't Priscilla come back?"Blossom retired to the scullery in a huff, and with an expressive, angry clatter began to wash up some things she found she needed after all, and could not leave to Mrs Pouch. Except for the noise she made, the house was silent, so silent that Polly's nerves were affected. Why were they keeping Priscilla with them all this time? What were they hatching up there? With all her listening, most of what Mrs Clarence had said had escaped her. She had spoken in a low, rapid voice that only sent an indistinguishable murmur through the keyhole. Sirrenry had been more obliging and more offensive. He had spoken of Polly in a short, incisive way that left its mark even on her, and he had spoken of police. Then he had said, "You'll come to me"; and that was the last word Polly had overheard, for he had marched towards the door as if he meant to open it, and she had bolted downstairs just in time. But of course, if Mrs Clarence went off with Sirrenry, Polly's game was up. That became clear as she sat with her toes on the fireplace, uncertain and fidgety, wondering whether to stay and face the music, or go and incur the suspicion flight leaves behind. If Blossom and Priscilla held their tongues about Timothy Higgins, the theft of the bracelet might easily remain a mystery. He knew enough not to part with it in an unsafe quarter; or till Polly told him the coast was clear. She had not been clever, or else things had gone unexpectedly wrong. The game had looked such an easy one a week or two ago. Mrs Clarence had quantities of jewellery, and was

very careless with it. She was careless in other ways too, and put herself in the power of people who wanted power over her as a means to an end. Polly had letters in her possession that she could have threatened with if necessary!--letters not meant for Mr Klosters' eyes. How silly people were, she had thought to herself when she found them in the waste-paper basket near Mrs Clarence's writing-table and pieced them together. She herself was not silly. If she took some of Mrs Clarence's trinkets and sold them through Mr Higgins, she would be quite safe, because Mrs Clarence would never dare to prosecute a girl who had such a hold over her, and could do her so much harm. But the machinery that had seemed so simple was not working smoothly. What was happening upstairs? She had half-a-mind to go and fetch the tea-tray. It was her business. Mrs Clarence, in her low, commanding voice, had said that Priscilla was to bring up the tea, and that Polly need not appear again. Spiller, she called her; and on her lips the name put Polly down amongst serfs who obey orders and have no redress. But serfs can claw and bite when masters are in their power. Polly would show how little she cared for Mrs Clarence's commands, and would go up to the drawing-room for the belated tea-tray. It was nearly six o'clock now. At any moment Mr Klosters might be home, and then, unless Mrs Clarence changed her tone, Polly would say things she could prove. She still held the cards in her hand, for Mrs Clarence could only rest her charge on a dislike or a suspicion: besides, it would only be a counter-charge if Polly was quick. She would go upstairs now and see what happened, and, if necessary, give both Sirrenry and Mrs Clarence a bit of her mind. She would be as glib and suave as the etiquette of her position

demanded, but she would make herself unpleasant too.The silence upstairs was suddenly broken. She heard sounds of doors, of voices, and then of people coming down. She was out of the kitchen at once, and half-way towards the hall when the sounds explained themselves. Sirrenry had come to the front door accompanied by Mrs Clarence and Priscilla, and amongst them they were carrying a heavy trunk. By the time Polly got to the top stair and could see into the hall, they were at the front door. Sirrenry summoned his chauffeur, and helped him carry the trunk to the car. Then he returned for two smaller things that might have been hat-boxes. Mrs Clarence herself, looking very pale, wore a long fur travelling-coat, and carried her dressing-case. Polly knew that dressing-case. It was fitted with gold, and as a rule was too heavy for Mrs Clarence to lift. She usually carried her jewels in it, and kept it close to her when she travelled. Probably her diamonds were in it now. Polly edged herself along the narrow hall until she was well within view, but neither Mrs Clarence nor Sirrenry took the least notice of her."What's all this?" she said loudly to Priscilla, who looked scared and anxious.Mrs Clarence ran down the steps and got into the car. Sirrenry nodded to Priscilla and got in too. Then the car moved away, and was at the end of the street, while the two girls still stood at the open door staring after it."What's 'appened?" cried Blossom's voice, and her tousled head looked round the top of the stairs."Mrs Clarence has gone," said Priscilla."Gone! You don't mean it."Blossom came into the lighted hall."Whatever 'as she done that for?" she asked."I think she was afraid," said Priscilla."Meanin' me, I suppose," said Polly, in a tone of compressed fury."I name no names," said Priscilla, turning her back on her. How she wished now that she had never come into this house, and come by Polly's favour. But Polly had put herself outside the pale. Come what might, Priscilla meant to break with her for good and all."What's that letter in your 'and?" said Blossom impatiently."It's for Mr Klosters," said Priscilla, and before she knew what was happening Polly had made a snatch at it. Luckily Priscilla was quick enough to hold it from her."I only want to look at it," said Polly. "Give it here."Priscilla hastily put it in her pocket."I don't trust you with a letter, or anything else," she said."What's that?" bounced out Polly."I do wonder what she's said to 'im," said Blossom uneasily. "'Ave you any idear, Priscilla?""I'm goin' to 'ave that letter," cried Polly. "'Eaven knows what 'er spite as put in it. You give it me, Priscilla, or it will be the worse for you.""I won't," said Priscilla.The next moment she was struggling with a woman far heavier, bigger and stronger than herself, while Blossom screeched for help, but did not go near them. Polly looked like a madwoman. Even while she was forced against the wall by her, and frightened out of her senses, Priscilla got an impression of her desperate; wicked face that haunted her dreams for months to come. She thought she was going to be murdered."Help, Blossom!" she screamed, and then Polly got her down on the ground and began to fumble for the letter, lying across Priscilla as she did so, hurting her and half stifling her, muffling her screams, but not altogether stifling them. In the midst of it Blossom flew to the door, and threw it open. She had heard the key in the lock, and knew that Mr Klosters must be outside hearing what went on. He came in and shut the door behind him. Polly was on her feet in a moment, and Priscilla picked herself up more slowly. She felt bruised and breathless, and unspeakably ashamed. That Polly! who ever since she knew her had been "that Polly!"--she had served her a pretty turn at last."Have you all gone mad?" said Mr Klosters, surveying his trio of handmaidens. He was a handsome, middle-aged man, who had ruined himself socially for Mrs Clarence, and told her every day that she would soon ruin him financially too. Their life together had been a cat-and-dog one: lately he had been bitterly jealous of Sir Henry, her cousin."Where is Mrs Clarence?" he said, before any of the three women answered him. By that time Priscilla had managed to extract a crumpled-looking letter from her pocket and hand it to him."Mrs Clarence left that for you, sir," she said, in a voice that was still shaky and uncertain.He opened it as he would have opened a telegram, in a hurry, and in the presence of his servants. Apparently it was very short, for he read it in a moment, with his back towards them, and then turned on them with a changed, disturbed face. He addressed Polly."You pack your things and be out of the house in an hour," he said, and whatever anger he felt seemed to vent itself in his tone towards her. But Polly tried to bluff."What am I to do that for?" she said."Because you're a thief. If you're here in an hour the police will be here too.""That's all very well, but what about my wages?" demanded Polly, trying to stop him on his way through the hall. The light fell on her brazen, coarse beauty, and Priscilla saw that she was not without hope of attracting the forsaken man. But she failed."You won't get a penny," he said harshly. "Sell the bracelet you've stolen."Then he spoke to Blossom and Priscilla."Send up some dinner," he ordered. "I'll see you later."CHAPTER XXITHE last that Priscilla saw of Polly was an hour later, when she met her on the kitchen stairs. Dinner was going up then, and Polly was coming down, presumably for her possessions in a dresser drawer. Priscilla, feeling helpless, with a loaded tray in her hands, half dreaded an onslaught. But she was allowed to pass unmolested. Neither girl spoke, and Priscilla averted her eyes."I wonder where she's gone?" she said to Blossom, when she came down."She 'as 'er haunts," said Blossom. "She's always been very close about 'er outside life, friends as we were. I arsked her where to send letters, and she said nowhere. That's funny. She's afraid, that's what it is. She'll go orf and leave no address, you'll see.""How will she ever get a place again?""P'r'aps she won't want one. We got ourselves to think about anyways. How do 'e seem? Bust up, or taken it cheerful?""He ate his soup," said Priscilla, "and he looked at the fish and said it was greasy.""He do notice, then. That's a good sign. These tater chips are a bit greasy too. I'll make a light omelette for a savoury. 'E likes that, and we got to see 'im afterwards."When Priscilla got downstairs again she knew that Polly must have departed, because, as she waited on Mr Klosters, she heard a taxi summoned, and heard the

slow tramp of feet coming downstairs with Polly's heavy box."I got a lot to talk to you about," said Blossom; dishing up the omelette. "You never told me a word yet about what 'appened upstairs. Was Mrs Clarence much put out?""She didn't tell me," said Priscilla. "She just said; 'Pack this and pack that.' She's taken a lot of her jewels.""Polly's gone.""I heard her go."She never said good-bye--just flounced out with her nose in the air--you know 'er way.""I'm glad I have seen the last of her," said Priscilla.It was a curious state of things in the house that night. Mrs Clarence gone, Polly gone, and the two girls left, not knowing yet whether they would be packed off next morning. Since lunch they had been torn from one excitement to the other, and they were still too wound-up to face their own to-morrow dispassionately. For the moment they clung to each other; but it was a passing intimacy. If Priscilla gave her next place a thought at all, it was to hope for a return to respectability and order. She had never felt at ease for an hour in this household.The summons to Mr Klosters' presence came at nine o'clock. Blossom had put on a clean apron in readiness for it, and had tucked away some wisps of her hair. The master of the house sat in his usual chair in the drawing-room. Near him stood a great jar of pink chrysanthemums Mrs Clarence had arranged yesterday. In nearly every detail the room was unchanged. She had sent Priscilla to fetch a silver blotter, and one or two other personal possessions. But very little was gone.

Mr Klosters looked unchanged too, so far as the maids could see. Upset certainly, and no wonder, poor man! but all there as usual, and not softened by trouble as Blossom had expected. He handed them each a cheque."Here are your wages up to date, a month in advance and a month's board," he said. "I'm not obliged to pay board, but I've done it. You can clear out tomorrow.""To-morrow!" echoed Blossom, her jaw falling, as it did with surprise, and giving her a look of elemental stupidity."Yes; why not?" said Klosters."It's very sudden, sir."Mr Klosters looked at her."That's all," he said. The next moment they were both outside the door."But wotever is 'e goin' to do with the 'ouse and everythink in it?" wailed Blossom, when she recovered her senses. "Turnin' us out like dogs. 'E ort to be ashamed of 'imself. We done no 'arm. And what abaht our charicters? You'll 'ave to go upstairs again, Priscilla, and arsk 'im that.""Why me?""'E didn't snap your 'ed off. Go on, there's a dear. 'E's never goin' to stay 'ere without us, so where's 'e goin'? Probably abroad, and everything 'ere sold up. If so, where are we? If 'e carn't speak for us, 'e must write. You tell 'im so, and don't be put upon."Not half liking her job, Priscilla went slowly upstairs, and listened outside the drawing-room door for an instant before venturing in. She had read so often of a strong man's grief, and the danger of intrud-

ing on it, but the only sound that reached her was of a poker violently breaking coal, and as she opened the door she saw Mr Klosters with his back towards her, making up the fire. He had evidently been looking through Mrs Clarence's writing-table, for there were papers on the floor and a sheaf of letters now burning with a bright blaze. Priscilla shut the door gently behind her and went into the middle of the room, standing now near the rose-coloured divan on which she had so often seen Mrs Clarence. The sound of the door attracted Mr Klosters' attention, and he turned round impatiently."What now?" he said, with a frown."If you please, sir, where are Blossom and I to apply for our characters?" said Priscilla. The youth and modesty of her appearance seemed to give Mr Klosters pause for a moment. He had been going to snarl at her, but did not, and considered her request instead."How did you come here?" he asked curtly."Through Spiller, sir.""Did you know she was a thief?""Certainly not, sir." Priscilla flushed indignantly, and drew herself up."How long have these thefts been going on?""What thefts, sir?""Don't ask a silly question like that, or I shall think you're in it, and that fool of a cook too. You don't look so imbecile as she does. I suppose you know there has been a theft--of a bracelet?""Yes, sir. Mrs Clarence came down after lunch and said so."Mr Klosters blinked and looked away from Priscilla."Is that the only thing that has been stolen to your knowledge?" he said."Certainly, sir.""What was going on in the hall when I came home to-night?""Spiller was trying to get hold of the letter Mrs Clarence left for you."Again the mention of Mrs Clarence's name seemed to flick the raw in the man she had deserted. He moved uneasily."Where's the character you came here with?" he asked."Mrs Clarence took me without one--on Spiller's recommendation," said Priscilla unwillingly."Can't you get one from your last place? You look a decent sort of girl. How did you come to take up with such an one as Spiller--and come here--without a character?"The man looked at her shrewdly and not unkindly. Priscilla hesitated."We live next door to the Spillers at home," she said, after gathering her thoughts a little. "I've known Polly Spiller for years, in a sort of way.""Where did you live last?""With Mrs Brinton, in Museum Square.""Why did you leave?"It was bound to come, the question that was such a stumbling-block. Priscilla tried to tell her story so that it was truthful and yet not incriminating. But there are bad deeds you cannot live down or gloss over, although in your own opinion they are not actually as bad as many that never come to the surface at all. She had been caught trying on a gown that did not belong to her, and by this time she was thoroughly

ashamed of it. She knew it sounded dreadful. But she knew too that maidservants often try on their ladies' things, but take care not to be caught. Blossom had torn a triangular slit in a new cashmire de soie tea-gown, because she would dance about in it, and hung on a nail in a wicker chair; but Mrs Clarence never found out how the tear came, and she had it mended at some French place so that it could not be seen."Here you are," said Mr Klosters.He had sat down at the writing-table and had written quickly and silently on two sheets of paper that he handed over to Priscilla. Once he had stopped to take his cigar out of his mouth and put the ash on a tray beside him, but he had asked no questions. Priscilla glanced at the paper on which she saw her name, and found that it was a testimonial to her honesty and respectability. She thanked him and went down to Blossom. The two maids read over what Mr Klosters had written, and found that he had spoken very well of Priscilla and indifferently well of Blossom."I'll get a place with it," she said. "A good, plain cook can always get a place in 'arf a mo'. You see me applyin'! You'd say butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, and as for 'ard work, I'd sooner 'ave it than not. Of course if they mention washin' I say I shouldn't think of it, and I goes at once.""But we can't get places by to-morrow night, and where are we goin' till we do?" said Priscilla, who could not take life as easily as Blossom did."I can't think why you don't go and see those friends of yours in Museum Square," said Blossom. "Your quarrel was upstairs, not in the kitchen."Priscilla did not like to explain what Mrs Enfield

and Meadows would think of her if they knew she was flying in Gardenia Street, the fellow-servant of Polly Spiller and Blossom. She had come down in the world through her association with them. The problem was, how to rise again to better things."I've a good mind to run round there this very minute," she said.There were all the dinner things to wash, but even at ordinary times in Gardenia Street they were as often as not left for Mrs Pouch next day. And to-night both the girls were too intent on their own fates and their own immediate future to care about the day's work. "I got nowhere to go," Priscilla's thoughts were saying over and over again; but she did not let Blossom know that. This troubled her. She wanted, if possible, to get away from Blossom and Gardenia Street.She went down the area steps to the back door in Museum Square, and when the new tweeny answered her knock she asked for Mrs Enfield. For once she had a bit of luck, she said to herself. Mrs Enfield was at home. She was shown into the hall, and found it warm and bright and tidy. Mrs Enfield sat restfully by the fire knitting. The new tweeny seemed to be dressing a doll. There were no signs of an upstairs dinner about."Well, Priscilla! So you've remembered us at last!" Mrs Enfield said, kissing her. "Why 'ave you never been to see me before?""Didn't know if I should be welcome," said Priscilla.Mrs Enfield looked at the new tweeny."You take yourself and your sewing into the kitchen; my dear," she said, not unkindly. "There's a good

fire there. I want this young lady to myself for 'arf-an-hour.""Right you are," said the girl cheerfully, and departed."Take your 'at off," said Mrs Enfield next. "You're not in an 'urry, I 'ope, now you've come. The family is dining out to-night. Had your supper?""No," said Priscilla; "but I can get some when I go back. I'd much rather talk to you. How's Meadows?""Same as ever. She'll be in soon. Do you have to be back by ten?"Priscilla shook her head."Where did you get a place?" asked Mrs Enfield. "Last I heard of you was when you were with the Sparks. Then Jane married suddenly, and I've not seen her since. She has written twice, but she did not mention you.""She has given me up," said Priscilla."Why? What you done?""I broke off with Ern Spark. I half wish I hadn't. Mrs Enfield, I got to turn out to-morrow, and I've nowhere to go. Can you tell me anywhere? I can pay. I got some money. But I want to be careful where I go."Mrs Enfield had to hear all about it, of course, and before Priscilla had finished her story Meadows returned and wanted to hear the beginning and end of it too."You do have some bad luck," she said."But you're silly too, my dear," said Mrs Enfield. "You should never have gone to a place with that Polly Spiller. Anyone could see she was no good.""Why don't you write to Mr Digby?" said Meadows.

"He's married now, and I believe he'd speak for you. He was very angry about the way you were sent off here. He as good as told me so. I believe he must have told Mrs Brinton you spoke the truth. They turned very cool to Fräulein, and she left soon after you did.""I don't know Mr Digby's address," said Priscilla, in a flutter at this news. "I suppose Mrs Brinton wouldn't speak for me?""I'll get you Mr Digby's address," said Meadows; "and you could go to my aunt till you get a place. She'd take you if I wrote her a line.""I am glad I came to see you," said Priscilla. "I been feeling very worried.""You must get a quiet, respectable place now and retrieve your character," said Mrs Enfield. "You've managed badly so far. I expect you've got into fine ways in Gardenia Street too. A pity I can't 'ave you with me a bit again. That girl out there is a bit above herself. Thinks she knows all she's got to learn. I 'ave to be quite severe at times.""I wish I could come back," said Priscilla; and when she returned to Blossom and Gardenia Street she wished it more than ever. The gas was flaring in the kitchen there, the litter of greasy pans and dishes was untouched, Blossom was sitting on the knees of a friend she introduced as Mr Atkins, and was smoking a cigarette. He had a tall glass of brandy and water beside him, and they both sipped at it by turns. Two other girls from another house in Gardenia Street were paying Blossom a visit, and one of them was amusing the others by dancing for them. Priscilla had seen her before. She was a girl who had tried to train for the ballet, but had not been good enough. She had

learned, however, to dance a breakdown, a jig and a hornpipe more or less clumsily, and she danced to an audience that was not critical. To-night she finished her dance with a split that brought her a roar of applause. Even Blossom tried to hush it up."We don't want 'im down 'ere," she reminded them. "Besides, it isn't correct. This is an 'ouse of trouble, dear friends. Quietly does it please."There were roars of laughter then. The idea of Blossom wanting quiet or considering anyone upstairs! They paid bills upstairs, and got all the work they could out of you, and kicked you out when it suited them. That was all downstairs knew or cared."You come and live with us, Blossom," said the dancing girl. "We 'ave rare fun every night. They're generally out, and if they ain't we don't trouble.""They don't want a cook, do they?" asked Blossom."They'd want you if you'd come. The present one drinks so that it's quite unpleasant for the kitchen. We'll say she's got to go, and you've got to come if you like. You'll suit us very well.""Is there room for Priscilla too?" said Blossom.The girl bridled, hesitated, and took offence at the glance and gesture of repudiation with which Priscilla, who stood there looking on, responded to Blossom's proposal."I don't think there is," she said shortly."I'm going up to pack my clothes," said Priscilla. "Good-night, all.""I only said it in the goodness of my 'eart," Blossom explained later, when she came up to bed. "I thought you didn't know where to go to-morrow. Daisy says they'd take us both and be glad to, only she doesn't fancy you there.""I don't fancy myself there," said Priscilla. "You gave me very sensible advice, Blossom. I'm going in with my old lot again. I saw Mrs Enfield and Meadows to-night, and they were nice to me. Why don't you try a quiet house and give up this rowdy street and Daisy and Flo and the others?""Because they suit me and a quiet 'ouse wouldn't. I've tried 'em," said Blossom.BOOK IIICHAPTER XXIIDANE HOUSE was not far from Tinker's Green, and Priscilla had taken a place there as parlourmaid; in order to be near her father and mother, who were both failing. Till she came she had been at Hampstead with friends of the Digbys, and she had done so well and been so comfortable that her two years there have no history. She was now a trim, pretty young parlourmaid who knew her work and had an excellent character. Her love affairs had so far been trifling. She hardly ever saw Ern Spark now, she had almost forgotten Harry Masters, and her romantic, unsubstantial attachment to Mr Digby was just such stuff as dreams are made of. The rub and tussle of everyday life soon dimmed it, and when she had been three months at Hampstead she was walking out with an artilleryman called Brown. She liked his uniform, but when she found he loved her too much she did not love him. So he was succeeded by a young city clerk, who looked very gentlemanly on Sundays, in a silk hat and a black coat. She met him at Jane's house: for she had taken up with Jane again. At first the clerk had been ardent and adoring, but when he found that Priscilla was in service he cooled off. There was an appointment he did not keep, a frigid correspondence and then the end of that story. A young butcher hardly counts. His manners were too rough to suit Priscilla. She began to say she could not do with

men at all, and would never marry. She often met Meadows on a Sunday, and attended suffragist meetings with her. But then, to her amazement, Meadows, the implacable celibate, the man-hater, the militant, Meadows herself married. Such a dull, dry parchment of a man too! How she can put up with him! Mrs Enfield and Priscilla asked each other. Gerty and Lily were both married and living near London, so that when Priscilla found her parents needed a child near them, she was the only one who could go. She was rather sorry to give up her place at Hampstead, but not nearly so much so as her employers were to lose her. A servant rarely attaches herself nowadays, and her Odyssey from one family to another is the only way open to her, since she is poor, of travelling and seeing the world. She knows that marriage, when it comes, will probably tie her for life to a little house within reach of her husband's work. Priscilla, who had some imagination, was often inclined to a bigger venture, to go with a family to India, for instance, or to South Africa, and look for Tom and Bert--her brothers. Why not?Her summer holidays, spent with her parents at Tinker's Green, showed her conclusively why not. The old people were very frail and helpless now, and it would make all the difference to them to have Priscilla at hand in case of great need. The mere thought of seeing her often did Mrs Day more good than the patent medicines she believed in, and bought when she had the money. They were still poor, but not as poor as they had been. The Spillers had departed, and their cottage had been declared unfit for habitation. So Sam Day had a good bit of ground now for a garden, and had learned how to grow vegetables at a profit. Daneswick had increased rapidly, and there was always a market for what

he had to sell. He hawked them round with his poultry, and had regular customers who looked for him and often came to his cottage for what they wanted when his wife's ill health or his own kept him at home.Priscilla had taken the situation at Dane House without knowing much about the family there. She had just answered an advertisement in The Morning Post, and after some correspondence with a lady who called herself Mrs Boger had engaged herself and gone to Daneswick. There were only two in family as a rule, the lady wrote, but at times her son came home for some weeks at a time. Three maids were kept, and the house was not a large one.Priscilla knew the house and liked the idea of living there, because it was close to Tinker's Green. She had never been inside it or even seen it well from outside; for it stood well back in its garden. She asked her mother to make inquiries about Mrs Boger; but Mrs Day was slow in answering, and Priscilla had to be quick and give the lady yea or nay."I can't seem to hear much," Mrs Day wrote, when Priscilla had taken the situation. "They live quiet and don't use as much butter as they should, Morson said. There's a young lady and an oldish one, and sometimes there's a gentleman. The young lady is Miss Udall, and no relation. I hope you'll get it, as it's so near."Priscilla got it, and arrived there on a Saturday afternoon at the end of May. She had not heard a word about her fellow-servants and felt more anxious to see them than the family. They mattered more, she considered. One of them, evidently the housemaid, opened the door to her. She helped Priscilla upstairs

with her trunk and showed her which would be her bed and her chest of drawers."Do we share this room?" said Priscilla, looking round. It was a good-sized attic, with the usual painted deal furniture, iron bedsteads and coloured counterpanes, all rather old and battered looking."Yes," said the girl; "cook has a room to herself. Her name's Emma, and mine is Dinah. What's yours? Priscilla Day! Then you'll be Day upstairs and Prissy in the kitchen, I expect.""Oh! indeed!" said Priscilla to herself, for you must remember that she was a full-blown parlourmaid now, and Dinah was only a tweeny. She thought Dinah talked too much."It's a beast of a place," said Dinah, perching on her own bed and looking on inquisitively, while Priscilla took off her hat and coat and smoothed her hair. "No one stays long.""Why not?""They can't stand her ways. Nigger-drivin' she ought to have taken up as a perfession. She'd have done well at it. If you're ready we'll go down to tea. They're both out this afternoon, so Emma 'as made buttered toast. She'll get in a row to-morrow, but she don't mind. If much is said, she'll give up an' go. And I should not think of staying on without Emma. We're that pally."Dinah's air became slightly provocative as she went on, because she considered Priscilla's manner irresponsive. She was a stout, rosy-checked girl, with fair hair and rather sly light blue eyes. She preceded Priscilla downstairs, threw open the door of the kitchen and, seeing no one there, shouted for Emma at the top of her voice. A small, wizened creature, who might have been

any age between twenty and forty, came out of the scullery and greeted Priscilla amiably. She had a large kitchen kettle in her hand."You'll be wantin' your tea," she said. "It's all ready."There wasn't very much to be ready, Priscilla thought, when she went into the kitchen and saw the table spread with a dirty cloth, the heel of a loaf, a scrap of cheap-looking butter and some cracked thick cups and saucers."You said you'd made toast," exclaimed Dinah fiercely."I couldn't then. I haven't the butter I want for their dinner," answered Emma. She put a pinch of tea in the brown teapot, filled it up from the kettle she carried and sat down. Priscilla noticed that there was no fire in the range."I suppose you cook on gas in the summer?" she said."Summer and winter," said Emma. "I bin 'ere a year and never seen a fire downstairs, except once, when we 'ad two feet of snow, and I lighted it. Then there was a row.""Do you mean to say we've no fire to sit by when it's cold?""Not a spark.""We're not supposed to sit in this house," said Dinah. "If you're at work you're warm, says She, and if you're not you should be.""You've been here a year," said Priscilla, looking curiously at Emma."You'll be 'ere a year when you know 'er," retorted Emma. "You'll stay because she wouldn't say a good word for you if you went away.""But you say no one stays long?" persisted Priscilla, turning to Dinah."More anyone does, except Emma and poor little Miss Udall. They're both afraid, they are. I'm not. One of these days I'll give 'er a piece of my mind."It was depressing; it was dreary: both the meal and the talk that accompanied it. Priscilla almost made up her mind while she drank her tea that she would stay her month and get another character from her last employer. She felt sure they would give her one."Who is Miss Udall?" she asked."She's got a father out in India," said Dinah, "and she lives here with Mrs Boger. The money's hers, I believe, but she daren't call her soul her own. I wouldn't be in 'er shoes for all her money. I can pack up an' go when I've 'ad enough.""My father and mother live just the other side of the common," said Priscilla, addressing the cook. "I think I might just run across there and let them know I've come. I'll be back in less than an hour.""Please yourself," said Emma."You're goin' to wait at dinner to-night, I s'pose," said Dinah.It was now five o'clock, and Priscilla said she would be back by six, in good time to lay the cloth and then wait on the ladies at dinner. She ran upstairs for her hat and coat, and two minutes later was out on the common amongst the gorse and heather, and in the sunshine. It had not altered a bit here since she was a child. The larks were singing, a cuckoo was calling close by, and swift clouds were scudding across a great open sky. Straight ahead was the little old cottage holding her own folk, and all the warmth of her heart. It was worth anything to be so near them, to step out like this and in five minutes see their faces and know

how they were. She hurried on when she saw her mother standing at the open door."I thought perhaps you'd manage to run over," said Mrs Day."I haven't seen my ladies yet," said Priscilla. "They're out. I can only stay ten minutes."She stayed longer than ten minutes, but she was back as she had promised, by six. The ladies had returned, she was told by Emma, and Mrs Boger wished to see her at once in the drawing-room."What's she like?" said Priscilla, who felt more inclined to talk to Emma than to Dinah."Like them dragons in fairy tales what belch forth fire and swallow you up," said little Emma. "Leastways she makes me feel like that. Perhaps you've a better 'eart than I 'ave."Priscilla went quietly into the drawing-room, when she had been upstairs and put on her black afternoon gown, cap and muslin apron."You've been taught something, then," said a harsh voice from the hearthrug. "The last one who called herself a parlourmaid knocked at the door and put her hands behind her back--as if she'd come straight from the workhouse."Priscilla found herself in the presence of a mountain a colossal woman who imposed by her mere size, who looked at the world through starers, and whose naturally arrogant eyes and chin were made more offensive than they need have been by her outrageous use of them. She had beetling brows, a coarse-cut mouth, shiny black hair, stiffly waved and curtaining her face, a sallow complexion and an air that in an archangel would have been self-satisfied. "If I was half as ugly as that I'd keep quiet,"

Priscilla thought, as she surveyed her new mistress in amazement."Come nearer," said Mrs Boger. "I can't speak to you while you stand out there."Priscilla advanced as far as the middle of the room. The lady sawed the air with her starers and put up her chin."Nearer!" she said again, and pointed imperiously to the exact spot on the carpet where she wished Priscilla to stand."I understand from my other maids that you have friends living on the common?""My father and mother," began Priscilla, but the starers sawed the air again and stopped her."Don't interrupt. It's rude. Your relationships are no concern of mine, and what you do when you are out does not interest me. I consider you have been deceitful, but that may pass for the present. What I want to say is that you will only go out at your stated times. You had better understand from the first that I won't have you running across the common at all hours.""Certainly not, m'm," said Priscilla, very much inclined to say then and there that she would stay her month and no longer. But she refrained."That will do," said Mrs Boger, and Priscilla went downstairs."Well, how did you get on?" asked Emma, who was busy with dinner."She makes your blood boil," said Priscilla vividly."Seen Miss Udall?""Not yet.""You better get your cloth laid early. They expect you to help 'em dress as if you was a lady's-maid and

had nothing else to do. Inconsiderate--like all of them. Besides, I want Dinah as soon as she's showed you round."So Priscilla went into the dining-room and laid the table with Dinah's assistance. Then the upstairs bell rang."That's Miss Udall," said Dinah. "First door on the left."Priscilla said to herself that in most houses a new maid is not expected to take up her duties till the morning after she arrives, but she was too good-humoured to stand on trifles, and she had dressed for the part before seeing Mrs Boger. So she went upstairs and knocked gently at the first door on the left.Miss Udall was standing in front of her dressing-table, and she had slipped on a thin black evening-gown that she evidently meant Priscilla to fasten. She turned when she saw the new maid's face in the glass and told her what she wanted done. Priscilla's first impression of the young lady was that she looked unhappy and had beautiful dark eyes. She was slender and small, she had dark thick hair and lovely hands. Priscilla always noticed hands, because her own were coarsened by work and were one of her trials. She did envy ladies who could keep their hands white and soft and fine. She wondered why this young lady, who had no work to do and plenty of money, should look so sad, while Blossom in Gardenia Street and Mrs Spark in Canonbury Square and Dinah downstairs were all high-spirited people, always ready for laughter and content with life. Dinah was not contented just now perhaps, but she looked merry and robust compared with Miss Udall whose toilet-table was furnished with silver, and who wore a row of pearls round her neck. As Priscilla was

fastening her gown there was a knock at the door, and Mrs Boger, in a Japanese tea-gown, came in with some letters."Indian ones for both of us," she said, and gave Miss Udall two. Priscilla saw that one was large and square and the other oblong. The young lady opened the large one first, took a card from it, read it, uttered a tiny cry not louder than the whir of a small bird's wing, read it again and then swallowed as if her throat had tears in it that were not to reach her eyes."This is news indeed!" cried Mrs Boger. "An invitation to your father's wedding with Miss Agatha Monroe. You have the same, I see. Did you expect it?""No," said the girl, in a low voice of fervent denial."Who is Miss Agatha Monroe?""I have never heard her name.""That's a letter from him, isn't it?""Yes.""Why don't you open it and see what he says? Perhaps there's one inside for me. I should think he would inform me if he has changed his plans."The girl opened the other letter and took out a single sheet of paper covered with large, careless handwriting."There is nothing for you," she said, and then moved away from Priscilla, who had finished fastening her gown."What are you waiting about for?" Mrs Boger said suddenly to her new parlourmaid. "If we want you again we'll ring."Priscilla fled. The table was ready, so she went down to the kitchen, where Emma with Dinah's help was dishing up dinner. It consisted of one roast pigeon; which was to be followed by asparagus from the garden."How she keeps up her size on it is what puzzles me," said Emma. "There ain't near enough to eat upstairs or down.""Miss Udall's father is goin' to be married again," said Priscilla. "They've just had invitations to the weddin'.""Men are 'eartless," said Emma."Hasn't his wife been dead long then?""Dunno nothin' 'bout that. But what's he want a wife for when 'e's got a daughter over 'ere cryin' 'er eyes out? 'E ought to be ashamed.""Why is she crying her eyes out?" asked Priscilla."Well, wouldn't you if you was under the thumb of that old cormorant upstairs?" asked Emma, who had no idea what a cormorant was, but thought it sounded big and greedy.CHAPTER XXIIIPRISCILLA did not leave at the end of her month. Her mother fell ill again, and, as the ladies of the house were often out, she was able to steal across the common nearly every day and help her a little. It had to be done surreptitiously and by connivance with Emma and Dinah. Mrs Boger lumped all servants together, as unpleasant inferiors who had to be endured in a house, and she would have considered any personal interest in an individual servant folly. They were paid machines who gave more trouble than other machines; and were apt to fall out and get out of order. She allowed them carefully measured amounts of food, because it isn't good policy to starve hirelings in these days, and she allowed them the outings custom made inevitable. She worked them as hard as she could, visitors of either sex were harshly forbidden, lights were out at ten, the bell from her room to theirs rang every morning at six, a sound of talk or laughter in the kitchen was considered a crime. Yet she talked of domestic servants as a pampered class, and wondered what the world was coming to because pretty young girls with some education and a girl's desire for a good time did not consider the life enticing. She never spoke to one of her servants except in reprimand, and though she herself passed her days in solemn, sour idleness, she grudged them every pastime and every relaxation. For instance, she would never let a daily or an illustrated paper go down to the kitchen, although quantities came

into the house. She was not one of the stupid, plain, old-fashioned Tories who think a little learning has proved a dangerous thing for the working class. She professed the most modern and enlightened political principles, admired the Insurance Bill, engaged a new set of servants at lower wages when it came into force, deducted their share and read them little homilies on the virtues of thrift and the blessing of seven shillings a week when they fell ill. As she systematically overworked and underfed her maids, one of them often did fall ill, and was instantly turned out to recover as best she could. All her politics and economics were of the kind that put every duty on the State and none on the individual. What she called herself I cannot tell you, but though her theories were full of sound, her practice was invariably hard and disagreeable. The blight of her nature made itself felt all over the house, and if Miss Udall had more to eat than the maids, she was lonelier. Priscilla soon began to pity her profoundly. That she was afraid of Mrs Boger was plain."She must have an unnatural father," the kitchen agreed. "Otherwise she would tell him she was unhappy and go away.""If I had a father in India I'd go there whether he liked it or not," said Dinah. "I'd take him by surprise. You have a fine time in India if you're rich--carriages and horses and black servants.""I shouldn't fancy black men cooking for me," said Emma, tasting the soup and then stirring it."What makes you think Miss Udall rich?" asked Priscilla."She'll have twelve hundred a year when she's twenty-one," said Dinah. "That's why the old woman wants

to put up a match between her and Mr Archie. A baby could see her game."Priscilla knew that Mr Archie Boger was the son of the house, and the only child, and that he was shortly expected home on a visit. His loose-lipped mouth and curly hair were as familiar to her as they could be through photographs of various sizes and aspects; and she had asked what kind of young man was coming. Her two fellow-servants had looked at each other and giggled."The kiss you behind the door if he can catch you kind," Dinah had answered. "But he won't try it on with me again, I don't think. His face was red one side all the afternoon last time, and he 'ates me like poison now.""What is he?" asked Priscilla?"A scented, namby-pamby little beast," said Emma promptly."I mean, what's he do for a livin'?""Writes to his ma, I guess--by the look of 'er when 'is letters come.""Does Miss Udall like him?"They couldn't say for certain. They thought not. They both liked Miss Udall, so they wished her better luck, and they would tell Priscilla this much: if ever Major Charlton called and the parlourmaid could let him in to see Miss Udall, even against orders, they would advise her to do it. Major Charlton was a man, and Mrs Boger knew it, and discouraged him all she could. He was well off too. Lived at Willeston Park, and kept polo ponies.But no Major Charlton called during the next fortnight. By the end of that time, however, a multitude of little things had taught Priscilla a good deal about

the two ladies she waited on, with the well-trained servant's blank face and air of indifference. Miss Udall was refined, lovable, delicately pretty, what Priscilla called "a real lady"; she had dignity, but she was sensitive and shrinking. Priscilla wished she would stand up more to Mrs Boger--whose very body and voice seemed to appal the girl. Priscilla several times heard her going hammer and tongs at Miss Udall, telling her she was selfish to begrudge her father his happiness in a second marriage, and that she could not expect him to have much affection for a child he had not seen since she left India nine years ago.Miss Udall never answered much, but anyone could see that she was fretting, and that she detested Mrs Boger. She did not look any happier when Mr Archibald came home. He arrived one Saturday in June, when it was Priscilla's evening out, so she did not see him till next day. While she was out her own affairs took a sudden unexpected turn that occupied her mind and relegated the Dane House folk to that long, shifting procession of employers and fellow-servants that a girl of Priscilla's class views much as well-to-do people view hotel acquaintances. You have liked or disliked them, and seen them daily for a short time. Then life has taken you on and they have become a memory.Priscilla had first gone across the common to see her parents, and had found they were both ailing and in need of things they had not been able to fetch for themselves from Daneswick. So she set out, basket on arm, to fetch them a few groceries and a scrap of meat for their Sunday dinner; and in the High Street she met Mrs Masters. Priscilla had not been to see her, or let her know that she was living in the neigh-

bourhood again. She did not want to make unacceptable social advances, and though her parents and the Masterses had started life on the same plane, the galling difference between success and failure had separated them for years. Besides, she had been a servant in the house, a little, unlicked, ignorant maid-of-all-work with chapped red hands. Priscilla would no more think of associating with her present successor there than a shopwalker in a frock coat would associate with the errand-boys. Priscilla, in her own way, had got on in the world, and was pleasantly conscious of it when Mrs Masters accosted her. She wore her new spring coat and skirt: dark grey they were, very quiet, but as smartly cut as Oxford Street can give you for two guineas. Her black hat only cost one shilling and sixpence-halfpenny at a sale, but it was a shape that suited her, and she knew just how the quills should slant, and that you must put no other trimming this season except a jet cabochon. She wore a correctly tied veil, and dark grey gloves and neat shoes."I knew you by your eyes," cried Mrs Masters, "otherwise--you have improved, Priscilla. Do you mean to say you've never been home since you left me five years ago?""I was home last summer for a fortnight," said Priscilla.  You were at the seaside.""Can't you come back to supper with me now?"Priscilla looked at her empty basket and was afraid not. She had shopping to do for her mother and father, and she wanted to have an hour with them before she went in."I'm parlourmaid at Dane House," she added."How well you've got on!" said Mrs Masters, and she would not take Priscilla's refusal. The groceries

and a bit of meat for Sunday's dinner were bought while she was in at a draper's, and then they met again and went along the High Street to the Masters' workshop and their home on the first floor."We're all five years older, but you'll find none of us altered," said Mrs Masters, as she threw open the sitting-room door. And there, in the same room, with the same furniture, and in the same attitudes, sat Harry Masters and his father, making out their last half-yearly accounts together from their big ledgers. They looked up when the door opened, and Harry rose when he saw a stranger. His father sat still and stared.At first no one spoke. Priscilla stood on the threshold, waiting for recognition, and Mrs Masters stood silently beside her."I'm blessed," said Harry, in a moment, "it's little Priscilla." He came forward with a look of intent scrutiny in his eyes, and offered her his hand."Who's little Priscilla?" growled John Masters, and glanced at his wife.An hour later, after a bit of supper and much friendly conversation, Harry saw Priscilla as far as her father's cottage on Tinker's Green, while his father smoked his evening pipe and asked his wife what she wanted to go and do a silly thing like that for."Like what?" said Mrs Masters, who sat opposite her husband near the open window. From it she had a good view of the High Street, and she would not have changed it for the peaks of the Oberland. Her "girl" had cleared away supper under her supervision, and was now washing-up."Bringin' those two together again!" growled Mr Masters. "They was quite happy apart--before. Now, six to one they won't be.""You do jump at your ideas so," said Mrs Masters uneasily."I don't jump at anything," said Mr Masters, "but I wasn't born an idiot, thanks be. I can see what's under my eyes. That girl has grown up as pretty as paint, and Harry had an eye on her when she was a little tousled kid runnin' about in a scarlet cap. It seems like yesterday.""She is a parlourmaid at Dane House," said Mrs Masters--"much what I was when you married me.""But I'm not what I was when I married you," said Masters. "I've done well in the world, and our only son ought to look higher. You know that as well as I do, Maria.""He did look higher when he courted Julia Morton, and what came of it? He's never looked at a girl since she jilted him.""He looked at one to-night," said Harry's father.There was no doubt about that. All through supper and now, as they walked across the common together, while the stars came out by twos and threes, Priscilla knew that Harry Masters was attracted, and that she was glad of it. He was quite different from any of the men in that mixed procession marching through her memories, of her own kind, as Mr Digby was not, stronger than poor Ern, a steady, know-his-own-mind man, no stranger to be half liked and trusted. He was not making love to her by a word yet. He just picked up the threads of an old friendship and showed that he meant to keep them in his capable hands. Did she remember their very first meeting, when Mrs Spiller had gone for her? Did she remember this and that, when she had lived under their roof?"When you see a girl grow up day after day for years,

you feel as if you knew her very well," he said seriously. "There couldn't be many surprises in you, Priscilla!""If there weren't I'd think I'd grown dull," she said, and gave him one there and then; for they had come to the gate of the cottage, and she dismissed him unmistakably. He had half thought of going in and then seeing her across the common again to Dane House. But she would not hear of it, and she did not ask him in."When shall I see you again?" he asked."One of these fine days," she answered, and slipped from him. Her father and mother wanted to know whose voice it was they had heard at the gate."Why couldn't he come in and see us?" asked Sam Day, and started on a train of reminiscences when John Masters had been even with him in life, and even a little behind. When people were born equals they died equals, he held. Meanwhile Priscilla ministered to her mother, and then said she must be back this very minute or she'd catch it."You don't say much about the place," said Mrs Day. "What sort of people are they? They only took it a year ago, when old Mrs Tresham died, and the postman told me this morning they was always changin'.""That's not true," said Priscilla. "Emma's stuck it a year.""What's wrong there?""I don't know that it's much worse than other places," said Priscilla evasively. "I'm goin' to stay a bit anyhow. I like poppin' in and out and seein' what you and dad are up to--after bein' away so many years.""We like it too," said the old people.But in some ways it was worse at Dane House than

it had been at any place since Priscilla's first one with the Stokers. The maids were overworked, badly fed and, worst of all, nagged at from morning till night.People often wonder why some women keep their servants year after year while others are for ever changing, and you will hardly ever find that the work there is to do explains either state of things. If girls are well treated and allowed some chance of a personal life outside the house, they do not often mind long hours of work. But to a girl in service the house takes the place of an office. Her business life is spent there, and she naturally wants a little life of a more intimate kind, a life with friends, relatives or lovers. Inside of the house she wants sufficient food and sleep, and considerate treatment. Mrs Boger would have said that Priscilla got better food in her kitchen than she had ever got at home: and this was true. When there was a leg of mutton for lunch it went down to the kitchen and the three maids ate of it. Each one was allowed a quarter of a pound of tea, half-a-pound of sugar and any butter that Emma could spare from the weekly two pounds. Vegetables came in from the garden and were plentiful. But there was often no meat for the kitchen dinner, and so little for the late one that not a scrap came down. All stores were under lock and key. Insufficient milk was taken.But you know from hearsay, if not from experience, what lengths a skinflint housekeeper will go to, and what hostility she rouses downstairs. It must be hateful to work till you ache with fatigue and exhaustion, and then feel that your food is meanly measured and begrudged. Besides, Mrs Boger did not know a good servant when she got one, and had not the wit

to leave Priscilla alone. She interfered with everything, thing, and found fault with everything, displaying ignorance, ill-nature and injustice. Soon Priscilla was ready to say as Emma often did: "I hates her!" And since she had left the Stokers, Priscilla had never hated her employers. She had even liked Mrs Clarence, and had followed a divorce case with breathless interest, because that lady figured in it as the petitioner's successful rival. She was wicked certainly, but she was never unkind. Now Mrs Boger was not wicked officially or legally. She was arrogantly satisfied with herself at any rate. But how she was hated! Not only by her maids, but by Jenny Udall. Priscilla had seen the young lady's face change and freeze just as she believed her own did when that loud, rasping voice addressed her."'Ope you've 'ad supper," Emma said, when she went in at the orthodox hour. "I got nothin' for you. If I gave yer a bit o' bread we'd be short for breakfast, and as for butter--"Emma could never express what she thought about the shortage of butter. The kitchen hardly tasted it from one week's end to another, she had told Mrs Boger that very morning."I'm not hungry. I'm sleepy," said Priscilla, and went straight to bed. She wanted to think about her meeting with the Masterses, and of her walk home by starlight with Harry. Dane House and its ways seemed squalid and oppressive.In the morning it was her business to put breakfast on the table and to dust the drawing-room before she went into the kitchen for her own breakfast of stewed tea and bread and treacle, or bread and dripping--when there was dripping. The drawing-room had

been thoroughly turned out the day before, so she did not expect to find much to do this morning. She dusted where she saw dust, set chairs right, tidied a little and was carrying away a small tray with cigarette ash when a young man came into the room and stared hard at her--the young man with the loose mouth and curly hair she knew to be Mr Archie Boger. She saw now that he was slender and bottle-shouldered, that he had long dark eyelashes and large eyes, and that he wore striking socks and a showy tie."You are new?" he said, coming close up to her."Yes, sir," said Priscilla, in her stiffest voice."You're small for a parlourmaid, aren't you? But I like little women--when they're young and pretty. Can't see why a woman wants to be alive when she's neither, can you?""Will you let me pass, sir? I have to bring in breakfast," said Priscilla, for the drawling creature stood between her and the door."Oh, come now!" he said. "You're not going to be nasty, are you?"He took a step forward and offered to put an arm round her waist, but Priscilla managed to avoid him, to open the door with an unseemly burst and to irrupt into the hall."Priscilla!" said Mrs Boger. "I wish you would learn to move quietly and not to slam doors. Do you know that I have rung twice for breakfast?""Yes, m'm," said Priscilla, red in the face and answering at random.CHAPTER XXIVIN the kitchen Dinah only giggled and Emma looked crustier than usual, when they heard that Mr Archie had been at his tricks already. "Told you so," said Dinah; but Emma's silence was unsympathetic. The plain, undersized little spinster half envied any woman who was attractive to any man. She had once or twice walked out with "chaps," but had each time been deserted for better-looking rivals. So she was bitter, poor little Emma, and inclined to argue that any girl could keep any man at a distance if she wished. But Priscilla, out of her London experiences, knew that this was not true. She had had many a little adventure since she went in the taxi with "Mr Smith," and though she had had the wit and skill to take care of herself, she knew now that a pretty girl of her class must always be on guard out of doors, and sometimes inside the house. In Gardenia Street, for instance, there had been difficulties more than once. But though the men who came to Gardenia Street were often flown with wine, they were essentially different from the little degenerate upstairs. Priscilla had never felt afraid of them. They were the devil's gentlemen, to the Puritan accursed, and yet of better grain than some who keep the law. The Vicar of Tinker's Green considered Mrs Boger an excellent Christian, and he certainly would not have spoken to Mrs Clarence, except in official rebuke. But Priscilla had lived in charity with the wicked woman, and often

felt like murdering the good one. She would have reversed the Vicar's verdict without a tremor, although she had agreed with it to the extent of feeling uneasy in Gardenia Street. To this day she felt ashamed of her short sojourn there, and never spoke of it when she got into the respectable world again. She used to puzzle over her own contradictory feelings and opinions, but, like many of her betters, she never solved the problem of them satisfactorily.Her immediate business was to avoid Mr Archie and yet retain a situation that gave her easy access to her parents. In this Mrs Boger was of assistance to her. She knew her ill-conditioned son well enough to keep a pretty parlourmaid out of his way as much as possible. Indeed her game was played openly, so that the whole household looked on. Archie was to make himself agreeable to Miss Udall, and the world in general was to look on at a love idyll playing to a finish between two charming young people decorously chaperoned and blessed by Mrs Boger."Sandwiches for two," she would say to Emma, sailing into the kitchen while the maids were still at breakfast. "Be quick with them. Mr Archie wants to start at once. Nothing to make them of? Nonsense. Some mutton went out from dinner. Wanted for lunch? I shall be alone for lunch, and I never care what I eat. Come! I don't like dawdling over meals. Priscilla ought to be clearing out breakfast and Dinah at the beds. What are you saying, my dear?""I don't think I will go on the river to-day," Miss Udall would begin, coming timidly into the kitchen. If it was not the river it was some other expedition. Every morning Mrs Boger sent the young people out

together, and every morning Miss Udall tried to stay at home, but failed."It's so hot to-day," she would plead, and be told that on the river there would be a breeze.Priscilla began to despise her because she always gave in. Anyone could see that she detested Mr Archie, and that he only hung round her because his despotic mother gave him orders to."I s'pose she can starve him into it," said Priscilla. "But why don't Miss Udall break away? You say she's rich. If I was rich I'd stand up to Mrs Boger.""It isn't in her," said Emma, who was a shrewd little creature. "Folks aren't all alike."That no doubt explained Miss Udall's pliancy. When her mother died her father had sent his only child to England to the care of Mrs Boger. That was nine years ago, and in all that time he had not troubled about her. Financially there was no need, because Jenny's trustees administered her mother's fortune for her benefit and paid Mrs Boger a liberal amount for her board and education. Jenny wrote to her father regularly, and often expressed a wish to go out to him, but she had never lodged definite complaints against Mrs Boger. She had no reason to do so. In some ways she received good value for her money, and she could not explain in letters why she was unhappy with her duenna. Of course she tried to, but what did her explanations amount to, when read carelessly half the world away by one of those middle-aged males who pay as much attention to the wishes and personality of a girl as they would to those of a baby in long clothes? Until lately Jenny had received a letter from her father at intervals, but there had never been anything interesting or affectionate in them. He

wrote as an elderly bachelor might to a girl connected with him by some formal tie of blood or friendship. Then for some months he did not write at all; and then came the printed announcement of his second marriage. She had written in answer to it: a civil letter of congratulation and virtually of farewell. She had sent a wedding present too; and then she had tried to revise her outlook on life. Her old dream of going out to India to her father seemed further off than ever, while Mrs Boger and the hateful Archie were nearer. They were there every day now, imposing themselves on her, not to be avoided. Her eyes got a hunted look in them as the summer went on, she grew pale and, as Priscilla saw, most unhappy. If only they would sometimes have left her to herself; but, unless she locked herself in her bedroom, they never did, and even then Mrs Boger as likely as not would rout her out and tell her not to mope. Mrs Boger never felt tired and inclined for quiet, so why should a young girl like Jenny? Nonsense, she called it.But one afternoon Jenny had managed to get out of an expedition, and was sitting upstairs listlessly staring out of her bedroom window, when she saw someone in the drive who made her heart beat quicker and then almost stand still. This was Major Charlton, and as Jenny had only met him twice, you will perhaps call her a goose. I don't, because I believe in love at first sight. At any rate these two people had met at a ball, been instantly attracted, danced a great deal together and been watched with furious uneasiness by Mrs Boger. Their second meeting had been in Daneswick High Street, and had only lasted two minutes. But Jenny had innocently spoken of it:

had said Major Charlton wished to call and suggested that he should be asked to dinner.Mrs Boger had said very little, but she had been out when he called, and she had not asked him to dinner. When pressed, she explained that nothing would induce her to receive a man who gave himself disagreeable airs to Archie, as Major Charlton did. She was sure Jenny would not ask it of her. That had been in the winter, soon after one of the January balls, and now six months later he was venturing to call again. Jenny flew to the top of the stairs and got half-way down just in time to hear Mrs Boger say in a determined voice to Priscilla that she was not at home. Then the mistress of the house shut herself into the library again. She had evidently seen Major Charlton from the window and decided not to receive him.Jenny, nearly in tears, waited on the stairs to hear the sound of his voice. She was out of sight, but in hearing, but it did not occur to her that she could show herself, or contradict Mrs Boger's orders. For nine years she had been made to obey that lady implicitly, and the fiction that she was grown up now had made little difference."Is Mrs Boger at home?" she heard him say in the voice she remembered and had longed to hear again. "No, sir!" said Priscilla's voice. "Miss Udall is at home."Jenny's heart gave a leap again. How could Priscilla know? How could she dare? What would happen now? She heard the drawing-room door open and shut; she heard Priscilla's step on the stairs."Major Charlton to see you, miss," said the grey-eyed parlourmaid, with a correctly blank expression, and the next moment Jenny was in the drawing-room,

while Priscilla was summoned to the library by Mrs Boger, who, looking angrier and bigger than usual, received her at first with an intimidating silence."Shut the door and come in," she said, when she had stared at her from head to foot. Priscilla did so."Did you understand my instructions just now?""You were not at home, m'm.""Then why did you let in Major Charlton?""He walked in, m'm, when I said Miss Udall was at home.""Why did you take upon yourself to tell him that.""I have always been accustomed to say my ladies were at home when I knew they were," said Priscilla, giving herself all the airs she could."Don't be impertinent, and remember in future that when I'm out Miss Udall is out too.""Very well, m'm," said Priscilla, and ten minutes later carried tea into the drawing-room, although she felt sure Mrs Boger would disapprove. But it was tea-time, and Miss Udall looked delighted when she appeared with the tray. As she came away Mrs Boger opened the library door and summoned her imperiously inside."What have you been doing now?" she said."Taking in tea, m'm," said Priscilla."Fetch me my hat and gloves: those that are lying ready on my bed."Priscilla ran upstairs and got the things required. She also took some hatpins from the toilet-table."If servants would use their brains they would save their muscles, but I can never teach them that," said Mrs Boger the instant the girl appeared. "If I were sent upstairs for a hat I should remember that hatpins would be wanted too, and bring them with me."Priscilla put the hatpins on the table beside the hat and turned to leave the room."Priscilla!""Yes, m'm!" Priscilla half turned."Don't you know that you should always answer when you are spoken to?""I didn't see that there was anything to say, m'm. I had brought the hatpins.""That will do. You let your tongue run away with you. If Mr Archie comes in, tell him that Major Charlton is here, and that we are in the drawing-room."Very soon after this Mr Archie did come in, by the back door, and came on Priscilla in her pantry. She gave him his mother's message, but he paid no attention to it. He sat down on the only chair, and watched her count out glass and silver for her dinner-tray."It won't be dinner-time for three hours yet," he drawled. "Come and sit down a minute on my knee."Priscilla went on with her work. She was going to lay her cloth early, and then have her evening out."How proud we are!" he drawled. He did not speak as Major Charlton did, with the refined, incisive tones that were the natural expression of his breeding. Archie's drawl was a veneer of affectation superimposed on the accent picked up from London servants and a London day school. It was the best imitation he could do, and that is all that can be said for his manner or for his accent."Saturday!" he said reflectively. "Saturday's your day out. Who are you going to meet?""I go to see my parents," said Priscilla shortly."A likely story! A pretty girl like you! Come now! Who is he? One of these days I'll follow you and find out.""Will you move, please," said Priscilla. "I want to take this tray into the dining-room."It was a large tray, holding all she would want for the table that it was her business to lay before she went out. She had to carry it through a swing door into the front part of the house, but there were no steps in the way. Archie, who sat close to the door, stood up to let her pass, and with the heavy tray in her hand she could only do this slowly and crab-wise. She kept her eyes on him as well as she could, but she had to watch the tray too or it would stick in the door, and just as she was steering it through he jumped round her and imprinted a fervent kiss on her neck. Priscilla had never had a bad accident with glass and china since she had been in service, but she did now. Her knuckles grazed the doorway painfully, the tray shook and then tilted, there was a crash as if all the crockery in the house was being dashed to pieces."Now you've done it," said Archie, and without waiting to help her he bolted through the swing door into the library, where he rather anxiously waited further developments. His experience was that maids did not tell tales to their employers. They left rather than do so. But Priscilla was different: quieter and starchier, prettier too. He heard voices in the hall now, and strolled out there in time to offer Major Charlton his languid hand, and bid him good-bye. His mother, he perceived, was in one of her blackest moods. Even at him she looked suspiciously."Didn't Priscilla give you my message?" she snapped."What was it?""That Major Charlton was here, and we were having tea in the drawing-room.""Ya-as. I detest Charlton, and I loathe tea; so I kept out of the way."Mrs Boger hardly heard her son's reply. She had hastily hooked open the swing door, and, with Jenny Udall at her side, was now looking at Priscilla. By this time what was left unbroken had been picked up and replaced on the tray, but there was an ominous litter of broken glass on the floor. Priscilla was just going to sweep it into a dustpan. She looked up when she saw Mrs Boger, and then looked down again. Then she rose to her feet and waited."Well! What have you got to say for yourself?" came from the lady in such a voice of fury that the girl shrank back from it."I'm very sorry, m'm," said Priscilla, and looked straight at Archie. He turned on his heel and went back into the library."Sorry!" echoed Mrs Boger. "I'll see that you're sorry. How did it happen?""The tray slipped out of my hands, m'm.""Stupid creature! I can see that. Why did you let it slip?"Priscilla would have given a good deal to answer "Because Mr Archie kissed me," but she knew if she did she would lose her place, and probably her character. Mr Archie was a little worm and a nuisance, but she was not afraid of him, and she wished if possible to stay at Dane House and then to give notice herself. So she said civilly:"It was an accident, m'm.""How much have you broken?""I don't know yet.""Then find out at once, and bring me the list. I shall verify it to-morrow, and deduct the price from your

wages. I allow breakages in reason, but not wholesale. You want a lesson."Priscilla did not speak, but looked ruefully at the debris on the floor. Mrs Boger, muttering something about an unpleasant afternoon, waddled back to the front of the house, allowing the swing door to shut after her. Jenny Udall remained on the pantry side of it; and looked at Priscilla, whose eyes were welling over with tears that she tried valiantly to swallow down."Don't cry, Priscilla," said the young lady, and of course made Priscilla cry as if her heart was breaking for a minute or two. Then both girls went down on their knees and tried to remove the broken glass. At least Jenny picked up one or two cruet bottles, whilst Priscilla swept the smaller fragments into her dustpan. She still sobbed as she did so."How did it happen, Priscilla?" whispered Miss Udall. "Was Mr Archie in here?""Yes; he was," cried Priscilla. "He took me by surprise kissin' my neck just as I got to the door, and the tray was in my hands. . . . I wouldn't stay. . . I'd give notice to-morrow. . . only I like being close to my home on the common.""I should tell Mrs Boger the truth.""No, you wouldn't, miss; not if you was me, and had your livin' to earn, and a character to get from Mrs Boger.""Shall I speak to Mr Archie?""I wouldn't trust him--not to tell tales to his mother.""I knew it was his fault. I saw you look at him when he slunk back into the library."Priscilla rose with her dustpan full of glass, and held it out to take the pieces in Miss Udall's hands."Don't worry about the money loss," said the young lady. "I'll see you don't bear that.""You're very kind, miss," said Priscilla, with woebegone eyes."I shouldn't worry about Mr Archie either if I were you.""He won't sit in my pantry again," said Priscilla. "I don't want to behave as Dinah did, but if he drives me to it--""How did Dinah behave?" asked Jenny."Boxed his cars hard, miss. It's the only way to get rid of him, she says.""Really!" said Jenny.CHAPTER XXVPRISCILLA'S own affairs were taking a turn that she hardly dared to believe in yet. Every other Sunday and every Saturday evening she saw Harry Masters now, and if he was not wishful to keep company with her, her name was not Priscilla Day. There was no doubt that he did, but what Priscilla could not tell yet was whether his parents knew, and whether they would ever consent; and whether Harry would fly in their faces for her sake. She hoped it would not come to that; but of course they had looked high for him, and probably did still. Julia Morton had jilted him for a clever young minister who had a smart chapel in a London suburb. Even to have been jilted by a young lady now of such social eminence seemed to place Harry at a great distance from Mrs Boger's parlourmaid, who wore caps and aprons, and said "sir" and "m'm" to the Vicar and Miss Parker when they came to lunch. Priscilla did not know that the Vicar and Miss Parker would consider the minister and his Julia of a different clay, socially, from themselves. Priscilla called both gentlemen clergymen, and did not distinguish. You must forgive her ignorance.Harry usually met her on the common now, took her for a walk, and once on a Sunday afternoon had tea with her parents. He was interested in gardening himself, and discovered that what Mr Day wanted was a frame or two for winter violets and lettuces. At any rate he said he could knock him up a couple in no time, and some day soon would come round with them."But won't your father see them in the workshops?" said Priscilla."Of course he will," said Harry.There was nothing more to be said by Priscilla just then. Harry had virtually announced that his parents might know any day that he was courting Priscilla. They would surely know it when they found that he was making garden frames for her father and taking her for long country walks every other Sunday. But she did not know what to say to her own father and mother when they asked her what Harry's intentions were."I hope he means well by you," Mrs Day said anxiously, and that made Priscilla indignant. As if Harry could mean anything but well by anyone. She was in no great hurry for him to speak outright. When he did, life would become brilliant and exciting, in a way it never had been yet. She hardly dared dwell on the comfort and security of the future if she married Harry; but meanwhile the present held oases of happiness in the desert of her life at Dane House. She told Harry a little about the family there, but not everything. She found that he knew enough about Archie Boger to dislike the idea of Priscilla being in the same house with him."I've learned how to take care of myself," laughed Priscilla. "It's Miss Udall you want to worry about. She puts me in mind of a mouse with two great cats after her."Priscilla was more and more concerned about Miss Udall as time went on. The young lady seemed to her most forlorn and friendless. She talked a great deal to Priscilla now, and told her that she had lived with Mrs Boger ever since she came from India, nine years ago, and that she had never been to school or been allowed to make friends."If I wasn't happy in this house I'd try another, miss," ventured Priscilla."But how can I?" asked Miss Udall. "I should have to get permission from my father, and he doesn't give it.""I should act for myself then, miss.""But where could I go, Priscilla? I've no money, except a dress allowance. The trustees pay Mrs Boger.""Can't you get 'em to pay you instead?"Jenny shook her head."I asked them that, and they refused. They said I must wait till I am of age. That's two years away."She was a dainty, delicate little lady, with lovely dark eyes, rather like Priscilla's own. But life had not welded her as work and poverty had Priscilla. She was highly strung and easily intimidated, not used to act for herself, and yet with some inborn courage and decision of nature. Mrs Boger's mere voice would send the colour from her lips, and yet sometimes, by an immense effort, she would defy Mrs Boger. She had done so that afternoon when she went into the drawingroom to see Major Charlton. The kitchen surmised that the ladies had had words later. At any rate Miss Udall had cried her pillow wet the same night, and, got up looking like a poor little ghost next day. For a week or two after that events seemed to mark time. Harry paid attention, but did not propose; Mr Archie idled, smoked and sipped at his whisky and soda all day; Mrs Boger did her utmost to bring her dear young people together, and Major Charlton was told when he called again that the ladies were not at home."I'm sorry," Miss Udall said to Priscilla, when she heard of it. "I should like to have seen Major Charlton.""Yes, miss, I know. But this time--""You know!" interrupted the young lady, blushing."Yes, miss," said Priscilla. "And you'll never see him again in this house. We all have orders to say 'Not at home' when he calls."Miss Udall was sitting at her dressing-table, and Priscilla was brushing her hair. The young lady was playing with a little silver box, opening and shutting it, and she made no immediate comment on her handmaid's information."Are you engaged, Priscilla?" she said presently."I'm keepin' company, miss.""What's the difference?""Well, you see, miss, the young man has not exactly proposed yet, but I think he will before long.""You look very happy over it.""I've reason to be happy, miss--and thankful.""But when do you see him? Mrs Boger doesn't allow followers, I know.""We meet every other Sunday, and every Saturday. We have long walks together.""How sensible of you," said Miss Udall, and then changed the subject. Instinct and tradition forbade her to gossip as intimately with Priscilla as she often felt inclined. But she liked the grey-eyed little parlourmaid better than anyone else near her, and lived in fear that Mrs Boger would send her away.On the following Sunday afternoon Miss Udall escaped from the house by herself, and took a long, lonely country walk that brought her about four o'clock to the gates of Willeston Park. If she went through it she could get home by a shorter way, but at one point the road through the park that was open to the public could be seen from the house. It was

very unlikely, however, that she would be seen and recognized, for the gardens lay on the other side of the house, and on Sunday afternoon Major Charlton would probably be in the garden. She had never seen it, and she only knew the outside of the house, which was dignified and Georgian. As she came near it she thought that one of Miss Austen's novels might well have had its setting there, and she tried to imagine how one of Miss Austen's young women would have conducted herself in similar circumstances to her own. Elizabeth had refused Mr Collins, and Emma had refused Mr Elton, but both these men were better stuff than the odious boy who pursued her. But then what women Elizabeth and Emma were. She had none of their brilliance and their courage. In theory a girl cannot nowadays be pushed into a marriage she abhors, but in practice all sorts of things happen that are inexplicable, if you will not allow for the driving-force a hard, unscrupulous nature may have over a sensitive, timid one. Why did Rosamond drink the poison when Queen Eleanor held it to her lips? Not nearly so much because the dagger frightened her as because she was Rosamond and Eleanor was Eleanor. Jenny had her eyes on the ground, as she meditated on these things, and so did not see that Major Charlton was coming up to her in breathless haste. He had caught sight of her from the terrace in front of the house, and had run down a steep grass bank leading to the public pathway."Won't you come round the garden now you're here?" he said. "It's looking rather nice."In another frame of mind Jenny might have refused. Her upbringing had been of the prunes and prisms order, and she was naturally shy. But she had just

been taking herself to task for her want of courage: she was a maid threatened by a dragon, and here was her chosen knight who might conceivably save her. Besides, there were floating in the background of Jenny's mind Priscilla's pictures of happy Sunday afternoons with the beloved man who had not spoken yet, but probably would speak soon. Why should Jenny not have a happy Sunday afternoon? Years of them were owing to her, if she compared her past with Priscilla's. How dull and grey life ran on with Mrs Boger. Skimpy meals, petty talk, heavy, formal visits, Miss Parker to tea sometimes for an exciting change."I love a garden," said Jenny."You have one at Dane House.""Mrs Boger has. I should like one of my very own. I used to think that when I went out to India--""To India!""My father is there.""But you are not going out to him, are you?""I was--at least I wanted to. But he has just married again--"Major Charlton looked at the girl's delicate, adorable profile. He guessed at her being unhappy with Mrs Boger, and he hoped that she would soon let him take her away. But he was puzzled by the rebuffs he received at the door of Dane House."Were you really out a fortnight ago when I called?" he said suddenly."No," said Jenny, in a low voice."Why was I sent away then? Does Mrs Boger object to me?""Yes; I'm afraid she does.""Why?"His questions were too curt and direct to answer easily. Jenny could not tell him that he was considered a rival to Archie, and a dangerous one."She is not an agreeable woman," she said evasively."And her cub of a son is worse.""Much worse," exclaimed Jenny, with so much fervour that she almost told her story. Major Charlton had taken her to a lawn where there were chairs under a spreading cedar-tree. From where they sat they could see a double row of tall weeping rambler roses all in full flower now. They could see the house too, and some gay flower borders near it. No one seemed to be about; but a spaniel and an Irish terrier had welcomed them wildly when they appeared, and were lying in the shade now close to Major Charlton's chair."Why do you stay with the people if you don't like them?" he asked."But what can I do? I'm not of age, and my father doesn't answer when I say I want to go away. I've lived with Mrs Boger nine years--""Nine years! and survived it! Nine days of her would finish me. No wonder you look as if you had been crying sometimes. Here comes tea! We'll have tea, and then we'll walk round the rest of the garden, and then, if you'll allow me, I'll drive you home."Jenny hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that his manner was more friendly than lover-like this afternoon. He made it easy for her to enjoy having tea out here and then to wander through the garden with him, and, while they waited for the dogcart to come round, to look at some pictures and tapestry in the drawing-room. In fact he made it so easy that what she was doing hardly felt like an escapade.

gut it was an escapade of the deepest dye, and she wondered if she could keep it a secret from Mrs Boger."When am I going to see you again?" he said, as they stood at one of the drawing-room windows together and looked at the garden and the distant view of woodland and downs beyond it."Perhaps never," said Jenny, speaking rather seriously. Now that she had taken her afternoon she was beginning to feel afraid of the consequences."What do you mean?" said Major Charlton."I never know what is going to happen. Mrs Boger doesn't stay long in one place. She is restless, and whisks me here and there.""She probably doesn't want to lose you.""I suppose not.""But that should give you courage--to stand up to her.""That's what Priscilla says.""Who's Priscilla? A friend?""She's that pretty parlourmaid. I talk to her--at least I have done lately--because she understands things, and sees what goes on.""What does go on?"Jenny hesitated, and then spoke out. Because, if you are threatened by a dragon and want to be rescued, you must let your knight know that the dragon is there, otherwise he might ride leisurely by."You know I have some money," she said, blushing."I didn't know, but I'm glad to hear it," the knight said squarely. "Money is always useful.""I have often wished I had none. Then I should have been allowed to leave Mrs Boger and earn my living. It was mother's money, and I think there is about twelve hundred a year. But at present I only

have a dress allowance, a very stingy one: and then Mrs Boger is paid.""By trustees, I suppose?""Yes; two stuffy old lawyers who preach to me when I go to the office, and think I'm very wicked to be discontented. They're on Mrs Boger's side. I believe they're related, and found her for father when he sent me home nine years ago.""You don't doubt their honesty?""Not a bit. But they're no use to me."She hesitated again, but this time he came to her help."You mean that Mrs Boger wants to keep you and your money in the family," he said. Jenny nodded."What astounding impertinence!" cried Major Charlton. "That insufferable boy--and you!"The colour came into Jenny's face at his tone, and she did not venture to meet his eyes, because she knew they were fixed on her eagerly, and with a question in them."But what would you do--if you were me?" she asked."If I were you I should marry Roger Charlton," he said promptly.So Jenny's afternoon had led her a long way indeed. She turned and faced him, her eyes glorified and happy, but her colour paling under the stress of his avowal."They would never let me," she said. But when his arms closed round her she thought they might be stronger even than Mrs Boger and Archie."I'll see to that," he said. "I'll write to your father to-night.""Mrs Boger will write too," sighed Jenny."You seem to know her ways.""It happened two years ago. There was a clergyman, but I didn't really care for him.""You are quite sure?""Quite sure. I was only seventeen, and I hated Mrs Boger, so--I would have married anyone to get away.""I say! Am I anyone?"Jenny's eyes convinced him that he was not."You won't tell Mrs Boger till you hear from father, will you?" she said. "I'll write to him too, and till we hear we must keep it a dead secret.""But how are we to see each other?""We must do without that.""For weeks and weeks? How can we, Jenny? You must come here again. You haven't seen the house yet--your home. If I get a chaperon and ask you for a week-end, will you come?"Jenny argued it out with him. Such an invitation would advertise what she wanted to conceal, and she would certainly not be allowed to accept it. He must have patience."I'll tell Priscilla. I won't tell anyone else," she said.And as they drove home they passed a girl walking with a young man towards Tinker's Green: a girl who seemed to receive a slight electric shock when she looked up at the dogcart and saw the young lady sitting beside Major Charlton."That was Priscilla," said Jenny."That was young Masters," said the Major; "a very decent chap. Is she going to marry him?""If he asks her," said Jenny, and wanted to know why Roger laughed."You seem to be in the parlourmaid's confidence," he said.CHAPTER XXVIPRISCILLA had got into the way of going to Miss Udall's room every night to brush her hair. Emma and Dinah jeered at her for performing a duty she had not engaged to do; but she let them jeer. She liked Miss Udall and felt sorry for her; she did not much like Emma and Dinah."You saw me this afternoon," said Miss Udall, when her long curly hair was unpinned and Priscilla began to brush it."Yes, miss," said Priscilla.One girl was embarrassed and the other knew her place. Jenny wanted to tell Priscilla what had happened, but did not know how to begin; and Priscilla was full of interest and conjecture, but could only speak if she was spoken to."Was that your young man with you?" said Jenny, shying away from her own affairs for the moment."Yes, miss.""Major Charlton knows him, and likes him.""Yes, miss. The Masterses have had a lot of work at Willeston since the Major came home. Mr Masters was talking about it--after we met you.""Has--he proposed yet, Priscilla?""Not yet, miss.""Why doesn't he?""I can't think. Perhaps his parents are unwilling.""Oh dear! I hope not. You couldn't marry if they were, could you?""Why not, miss?""Would you do it? Would you marry in defiance of their wishes?""Certainly I would, if he would. They'd come round. If they didn't, they'd be unreasonable. There's nothing against me except that I'm in service.""I'm sure that ought not to count against you. It's a very honourable calling.""It's one people are always ready to throw in your face though," said Priscilla.The brushing went on silently for a time; then Jenny said, with an effort:"What did you think when you saw me to-day?""Well, miss," replied Priscilla, "my thoughts didn't come as quick as Harry's. The moment you passed he turned to me and he said: 'Who's that young lady with the Major?' and I said it was you. And he said: 'Are they keeping company?' and I said I hoped so, because from what I had seen I thought the Major was a nice gentleman, and Willeston Park a nice house.""I had tea there in the garden," said Jenny, "and after tea I saw the drawing-room and the pictures. Major Charlton and I are engaged, Priscilla.""I wish you both every happiness," said Priscilla primly. But her eyes laughed and sparkled in sympathy with Jenny's own."Just at present you are the only person we are going to tell," Jenny continued. "I can trust you with the secret.""I'll be as silent as a tomb.""We want to hear from my father in India before we tell anyone here.""Yes, miss. Mrs Boger will be annoyed, won't

she? Saying 'not at home' to the Major, and then having his wedding here will make it awkward for her.""We are a long way from a wedding," said Jenny dreamily.But next day she found that her ideas were rapidly adjusting themselves to the change made by Roger's declaration. The thought that he was her knight gave her some courage, though not as much as she required. Mrs Boger had made herself disagreeable at once yesterday, asking why Jenny had gone for a walk by herself, and where she had been, and looking suspiciously at the girl, who said as little as she could and went to bed early."If you want a long walk to-day Archie will go with you," Mrs Boger said at breakfast. "I don't approve of your running about these lanes by yourself. You might meet tramps."Jenny looked at the limp, bottle-shouldered youth opposite her and wondered whether the tramp lived who would be frightened by him."It is much too hot for a long walk to-day," she said."I detest walks," said Archie. "Get a car and I'll drive it.""We'll spend the day in the garden," said Mrs Boger. "At least, you young people can. I have to be in the kitchen seeing to jam. If you leave it to servants they eat the fruit and burn the sugar.""Shall we sit in the garden?" said Archie, when his mother had gone. "I believe it's cooler indoors.""I'm going to play scales," said Jenny. She could not say she had letters to write, because she had never been allowed to make friends, and had no correspondence. She knew, however, that scales regularly and loudly played would drive Archie out of the drawing-room."When I get married I shall veto scales," he drawled.

They make a house uninhabitable. I can hear them in the library.""Do they disturb your meditations?""If you'd play my accompaniments I'd try over those new songs.""No, thank you. I've looked at them.""What's the matter with them?""I'm not going to discuss them, and I'm not going to play them.""You're on the high horse this morning, aren't you?""I want to be left alone."That was what Jenny wanted: to be left alone with her thoughts and memories of yesterday. For two hours her scales stood her in good stead. Up and down the keyboard her nimble, lissom fingers went, as the old German had taught her, with careful articulation, slowly first, and then more rapidly. While her fingers worked her mind played and dreamed, but came to no conclusion. How and where and when was she to meet her lover, and how get messages from him? She could write to him and post the letter herself, but all letters that came to the house were under Mrs Boger's surveillance. From the hour when Jenny arrived, a timid, delicate little girl of ten, Mrs Boger had taken possession of her life, and tried to train her in the way she should go, towards marriage with her graceless son, who at the time was fifteen, and had just been expelled from school. Jenny knew that legally she could not be forced into a marriage. What she doubted was whether she had the strength to withstand such pressure as could be brought upon her. She could count on no support from her father. He left her to Mrs Boger, and she would not stick at a trifle to get what she wanted. She was capable, at least, of whisking Jenny off to some

strange place where she would to all intents and purposes be imprisoned with a gaoler whose tongue and temper were brutal. Jenny saw no way of escape, and at the end of a meditative two hours she felt so restless and so miserable that she sought out Priscilla, who was trimming lamps in the pantry."I'm so wretched, Priscilla," she said, sitting down on the only chair. She had shut the door, but she spoke in a low voice, for the kitchen was not far off, and Mrs Boger was in it."You ought not to be," said Priscilla, watching the spout of her oil-can."But I don't know what is going to happen.""You must keep a good heart, miss.""If will be three weeks before we can hear from my father, if he telegraphs, and six weeks if he waits to write.""He won't wait, miss. He'll guess you're in an 'urry.""I shouldn't be in a hurry--" began Jenny."If you were happy here. No, miss. I understand.""I'm so afraid, Priscilla.""They can't come between you if you don't let 'em. You mustn't let 'em, miss. For three weeks you just got to stand up to 'em, and then you'll be happy ever after. You must say to yourself it's worth while.""Won't you see your young man till you go out again to-morrow week, Priscilla?""No, miss.""It's a long while.""That's the worst o' service. In between your outings, you're shut up as much as if you were a nun or a convict; and other girls from shops and factories they get out every night. But I'm not uneasy.""I wish I could see Major Charlton. If I could just see him and speak to him sometimes, I'd believe it more."Priscilla rubbed a charred wick smooth, and put back a chimney and a shade-stand."You don't like to go to his house again?" she ventured."Not if I can help it. Besides, I can't get away.""You could get just across the common, miss, to my home. I often slip across to see how the old people are gettin' on.""Do you mean that I could write to Major Charlton and ask him to meet me there?""Why not, miss? There's a garden at the back where there's a seat under an old quince-tree. No one passing can see in there.""But would your mother not mind?""She's very particular, but I shall tell her you and Major Charlton are engaged. I've told her a lot about Mrs Boger already, and about Mr Archie. She wants me to give notice.""You mustn't, Priscilla, indeed you mustn't yet. I couldn't get on without you.""Haven't you any friends, miss?""I know people here and there, but not many. I never stay with anyone. I'm going to the garden-party at the Vicarage on Friday. Perhaps Major Charlton will be there. But I want to see him before that. I think I will ask him to come to your mother's cottage, Priscilla. It can't be wrong, as we are engaged."At that moment a heavy footfall and a scolding voice announced the approach of Mrs Boger. She came into the pantry immediately, and filled it both with her enormous body and her cankered soul. She nagged at

Jenny for being there in degrading intimacy with Priscilla; and she nagged at Priscilla for being behindhand with her work, and scamping it. The drawing-room ought to have been half turned out by this time, and it was a mere excuse to say that Emma had needed help with the fruit directly after breakfast. They ought all to have got up an hour earlier; and so on and so on. Her hard, monotonous voice pursued Jenny as she fled upstairs, wondering what joy and pleasure life brought to a woman who went through it quarrelling with everyone around her. After lunch Jenny walked to Daneswick and posted a letter to Major Charlton, telling him not to write, but to meet her on Thursday at the Days' cottage at five o'clock. She promised that she would either be there herself, or send him a message by Priscilla."I've got away to-day, but I may never be able to again," she said, when she met him near the quince-tree Priscilla had described. She felt shy and stiff at first, and spoke formally, offering him her hand. But that phase passed when he laughed and took her in his arms."I wish I could carry you off this instant," he said. "I will if you'll come."Jenny half wished he would, but could not tell him so."They are getting suspicious," she narrated. "Sunday that long walk, and yesterday to Daneswick to post my letter, and to-day out by myself again. My comings and goings are under careful supervision, you know.""I'll come here every day at the same time on the chance," he answered."That would never do," cried Jenny. "You would be seen, and there would be gossip. Miss Parker spies

on everyone, and she is rather a friend of Mrs Boger's.""I might send a long cablegram to your father, explaining myself, instead of waiting for letters. I want things settled, and above board, for both our sakes.""What is the worst Mrs Boger could do?" said Jenny pensively. "She could carry me off--abroad.""You are not to let her. If anyone is to carry you off it's to be me.""It is so difficult to believe that since Sunday every thing has changed, that Mrs Boger--""Oh! confound Mrs Boger; don't think of her; don't speak of her. You and I are going to be married, Jenny, in a few weeks.""In a few weeks!"Jenny's eyes met his, radiant, but only half believing."Do you think I'm going to wait for ever? Besides, I want to get you away from these odious people. Where shall we go for our honeymoon?"Jenny had no ideas and no wishes. She thought it did not matter much where her lover took her, because he himself would make her paradise. To be worshipped instead of scolded, to be petted instead of drilled, to be with him always, mistress of his house, and companion of his life; to throw off the enforced and detestable surroundings of her girlhood--all these consequences of her marriage were changes of such magnitude that they filled her imagination.""But anything that can be done to separate us will be done," she persisted, and although he laughed at her fears he could not dissipate them. Their argument was not ended when he suddenly saw her face blanch with fright and her eyes widen. She half rose and then

sank back, looking, he said to himself, as sick as a rabbit that sees a ferret. He glanced round, because he heard a heavy step crunching along the garden path, and he was neither surprised not alarmed to see Mrs Boger coming towards them. He rose to greet her, but she only scowled darkly at him and stood silently in front of the quince-tree, as if her feelings were too much outraged to find words. Then she pointed an accusing finger at Jenny and issued a short command."Go home," she said.The girl got up at once, but glanced at her companion."I'll see you across the common," he said hopefully."I wish to speak to you," Mrs Boger said to him.The young man looked from one woman to the other, not wishing either to fail Jenny or to run away from Mrs Boger."What would you like me to do?" he said to Jenny, and let his air and voice proclaim his allegiance to her."Oh, stay!" she murmured, and ran from him through the garden, past the side of the Spillers' deserted cottage. As she came in front of the Days' house, Mrs Day, much vexed and troubled, came out to speak to her."The lady walked straight past me into the garden without saying with your leave or by your leave," she said. "She came across from the Rectory. You can see all our ins and outs from their front windows.""Never mind, Mrs Day," said Jenny, trying to speak composedly. "It is just as well, perhaps."But when she got home she told Priscilla what had happened, and Priscilla was furious."That Miss Parker!" she exclaimed. "I'll be bound it's her doing. Now you'll never have no peace there again, miss.""I hadn't much to-day," said Jenny. "I hate doing things secretly.""What will happen now, miss? Will you be engaged openly? May I tell Emma and Dinah?" Jenny shook her head."Don't say a word yet to anyone," she counselled. "I can't tell you what will happen."She looked so anxious and unhappy that Priscilla went beyond her place to comfort her."The Major will get his own way," she prophesied. "He's a man!"CHAPTER XXVII"I SUPPOSE that in the army your conduct would be considered worthy of an officer and a gentleman," said Mrs Boger."I hope so," said Major Charlton.With an imperious gesture she signed to him to sit down, and sat down herself on the little wooden bench at the foot of the quince-tree. He remained standing."I can only say that the moral standard of the army must be even lower than I feared," she continued.Major Charlton looked at the woman more attentively than he had ever done before. Hitherto, whenever he had seen her he had tried to avoid her, because she appeared odious, and was the mother of that objectionable cub, Archie Boger, whose pomatum, ties, curls and spats all made you want to kick him. But this evening he wanted to find out the extent of her power over Jenny, and how she was likely to use it. She had a bad-tempered face, and he judged from her manner that her conceit and her stupidity were both colossal."I shall be delighted to meet Miss Udall at your house in future, if you prefer it," he said."You are not going to meet Miss Udall at all if I can prevent it," she said."Why do you object to our meeting? You must know perfectly well that if Miss Udall marries me--"Mrs Boger waved her starers, tossed up her chin and interrupted him rudely."Miss Udall is going to marry my son," she cried.

"It is an old attachment. They have understood each other for years.""You can't drive a girl into a marriage in this country," said the Major. "At least, I hope not.""The two young people are devoted to each other," said Mrs Boger. "They would have married a year ago, but I persuaded Archie to wait. I am half sorry now that I did. There is a light, fickle vein in Jenny that she inherits from her mother. When Mrs Udall married she was more or less engaged to three different men; but she settled down.""Did you know Mrs Udall?""By sight and reputation. We lived in the same town.""Well," said the Major, "I must be getting back to dinner." And he lifted his hat."You don't believe me!" exclaimed Mrs Boger, sallow and trembling with wrath.The Major smiled."But if you think I will allow these clandestine meetings between a young lady under my care and in my house and a man of your kind, you little know me. I'll lock her up, I'll take her away, rather than let her get into such disgraceful mischief."Major Charlton did not want to show his hand. He would not tell the woman that he was engaged to Jenny, or that he meant to cable to her father this afternoon and write by the next Indian mail. His chief concern just now was to deflect Mrs Boger's wrath from Jenny's head to his own."There is no need to lock anyone up," he said easily. "I'll keep out of the way for the present. I shall get my innings some day, no doubt.""I don't trust you," said Mrs Boger. "A man who

will entrap a girl of nineteen into a clandestine meeting with the connivance of cottagers will do anything. If the Vicar knew his duty he would have the Days turned out of the parish. I am going to tell Mrs Day what I think of her; and as for her daughter--"Mrs Boger tramped along the weedy garden path until she came to the shed where Mrs Day sat plucking a fowl. The Major followed her, and at the sight of him Mrs Day rose politely."How dare you make your garden a meeting-place for this gentleman and Miss Udall?" began Mrs Boger abruptly."My garden is my own," said Mrs Day."You'll find that the Vicar doesn't think so. Miss Parker is going to speak to him about it.""If the Vicar was like his sister he'd always be in hot water," said Mrs Day. "But he minds his own business, and everyone respects him.""Certainly," said the Major."What do you get for it?" said Mrs Boger, with a sudden gust of anger that inflamed her face. Major Charlton's coolness infuriated her, and she was rapidly passing the point at which she had any self-control. She knew her position was weak, and yet she had set her whole mind for years on securing Jenny's money for her son. She could not face the fact that her aims were in jeopardy and at the same time keep her head."What does he pay you and your daughter?" she bellowed, putting her face close to Mrs Day and intimidating her by her bulk and her bullying voice."Come, come!" said Major Charlton. "You mustn't say things like that, Mrs Boger. You're in Mrs Day's garden without an invitation, remember.

She'll ask you to go out of it if you're not more careful.""I never asked her to come into it," said Mrs Day. "My garden belongs to me just as much as Dane House belongs to you, m'm.""You're an impertinent woman."Mrs Day sat down to her chicken again, perturbed, but silent. Mrs Boger, muttering threats of vengeance and allusions to Priscilla, departed. The Major lingered a moment."I'm very sorry you've been annoyed, Mrs Day," he said, with some hesitation."You're quite welcome, sir," said Mrs Day rather stiffly.Then the Major departed too, feeling vexed and uncomfortable. He wondered what would happen to Jenny after this, and how soon he would be able to take her out of the claws of that insufferable woman. He had not gone far along the road leading to Daneswick and the post office from which he meant to cable when he overtook Priscilla, who to oblige Dinah was out on a Thursday instead of a Saturday. He stopped to speak to her."I'm afraid that Mrs Boger's angry with you and your mother," he said."We can bear it, sir," said Priscilla placidly."But you'll be wanting a place, won't you? And a character? Or are you going to be married?""Not that I know of, sir," said Priscilla, blushing."Well, if you want a place let me know. I'll speak to my housekeeper. I daresay she could make room for you.""Thank you, sir, I'd like to come, but Miss Udall, she does wish me to stay at Dane House as long as she's there.""I say--they're not unkind to her, are they?""What do you call unkind? They worry her.""Do they? In what way?""It's that Mr Archie. Miss Udall hates him as if he was rats, and he's always after her."The Major looked reflectively at Priscilla. "You're a sensible girl," he said."Pretty well, sir," she admitted."You stick to Miss Udall, and if they worry her much let me know, will you?""Yes, sir.""They won't send you away suddenly, I suppose?""I can't say what Mrs Boger will do. To-morrow I'm going to the Vicarage to help at the garden-party. They'll keep me for that, I expect. Shall you be there, sir?""Yes," said Major Charlton. "I shall be there; but not till rather late. I have a meeting first. You might tell Miss Udall that I forgot."The Major walked on quickly and was soon out of sight. The road began to lead through a small scrubby wood that Priscilla did not like by dark, but braved on this summer evening, when she knew that at any moment Harry might meet her. It was nearly seven o'clock now, and they were going to walk into Daneswick together and have supper with his parents. Mrs Masters had been very friendly to Priscilla for a long time, and John Masters showed signs of coming round. When Harry did speak Priscilla did not anticipate any resistance from his parents, and she was thinking of her own affairs with a happy glow when someone as quick and stealthy as a cat pounced on her from the scrub, put one hand round her waist and the other over her eyes, and kissed her over and over again."Got you this time, my beauty," said Archie Boger, and Priscilla would never have given his weedy-looking arms credit for as much strength as he put forth now to prevent her from getting away. She screamed loudly and tried to hit out at him, but he had both her wrists in his hands, and only laughed at her. They swayed to and fro on the road, for he did his best to drag her to the edge of the wood, and she, heated and dishevelled, looked desperately for Harry, tried to keep her footing and, when she could find breath, called out for help. She had her back to Daneswick when Harry Masters, hearing a cry, came into the road from a field path, and was on them before Archie Boger could escape. The next moment Harry had pulled him away from Priscilla, and had given him half-a-dozen sharp blows across his shoulders with the stick he carried. The young man squealed with pain and fury, Priscilla was sobbing with fright, Harry was using language to Archie Boger that was more expressive than polite."I've a good mind to run you straight to the police station and give you in charge," he said. "You're a nuisance to the neighbourhood."But the sight of Priscilla, tearful and lonely, led him to change his mind."Get home," he said, shaking him roughly; "and don't come across me again. I'll give you a thrashing you won't forget next time.""You'll hear of this one," said Archie, scowling evilly. "If you think a gentleman is going to sit down and let a cad like you--""I've not laid hands on a gentleman that I know of," said Harry, and turned his back on the youth, who slunk off, muttering threats."Oh, Harry, what have you done?" exclaimed Priscilla, still sobbing violently. "Won't he have the law of you?""Not he.""But suppose he did--would they put you in prison?""No fear. There isn't a magistrate on the bench that doesn't know me, and my word would hold agin' his. He's a bad egg, Priscilla, and it's time you left the house.""I expect she'll give me notice to-morrow anyhow.""What for?""Miss Udall wanted to see Major Charlton, so I asked mother to let them meet in our garden, and they did, and that old Mrs Boger found them there.""They are keepin' company then?""They are engaged; but no one is to know it till the letter comes from India from Miss Udall's father.""But now your old woman knows it!"Priscilla was not sure. She had only seen Miss Udall for a moment, just before she came out, she said."You mustn't come that way by yourself again," said Harry. "You must stick to the common and the main road.""Must I?""Yes. I mightn't be there another time!"Harry still looked hard with anger, and Priscilla looked white and tearful. They waited for some time beside each other, silent and brooding."What's the good of vermin like that?" asked Harry suddenly. "Why can't they be exterminated like we do stoats and weasels?""Don't think about him," said Priscilla."I'd like you to come straight away from that house.""I can't do that.""Why not? What's to hinder you?""I've promised Major Charlton to stand by Miss Udall.""When did you promise that?""Just now. He overtook me and spoke to me. He's very vexed about Miss Udall, and he says if I want a place--""You don't want one," said Harry."But I shall when I leave Dane House.""I want a wife then," said Harry. "The sooner the better."He stood still in the road for a moment and looked at her."You've altered a bit, but not so very much since you were a little nipper with a black fluff of hair and a scarlet cap, and I bought you some buns. All the time you lived with us I thought what a nice kid you were, and then when I met you again, and saw how you'd grown up--I s'pose I've always been fond of you really, Priscilla, without exactly knowin' it.""Same here," said Priscilla, a little tearful still, but smiling through her tears."But won't your father and mother mind?" she asked presently."Why should they?""Won't your friends throw it up to you, that you've married a skivvy?""No; they won't," said Harry, setting his chin square and firm.At ten o'clock Jenny Udall was brushing her own hair when she heard a gentle tap at her door, and

Priscilla, still in her white blouse and summer hat, looked into the room."I haven't waited to change, miss," she said apologetically. "I was so afraid you'd be in bed.""Come in, Priscilla," said Jenny. "How happy and wide awake you look. I've had such a miserable evening. Come in and make me happy too.""He's spoken, miss.""Your young man, Priscilla?""Yes; and his parents are agreeable. At least his mother is, and his father says he must have his own way, and we are going to be married as soon as we can. I wonder whether you or me will be married first, miss.""You will," said Jenny gloomily. "Mrs Boger and I are going abroad.""Going abroad? When, miss?""At once. In a day or two.""But what will the Major say?""He won't like it, of course.""But why do you go, miss?""What can I do, Priscilla? I'm not my own mistress, and I've no money.""Well! I wouldn't go if I was you," said Priscilla. "Is that Mr Archie going with you?""I suppose so.""My young man put his stick across his shoulders to-day," said Priscilla."What!" cried Jenny, and listened to Priscilla's narrative with disgust and amazement."My young man wishes me to leave the house as soon as possible," Priscilla concluded."I don't wonder," said Jenny."But I told him I couldn't think of it while you

wanted me to stay; and I won't unless Mrs Boger turns me out.""I don't know whether she means to shut up the house or to let it furnished," said Jenny dreamily."She isn't gone yet," said Priscilla. "The Major; he told me to let him know at once if they meant mischief, so he must know about this. I call it kidnappin', or next door to it. Why don't you go straight to Willeston Park and stay there, miss? I would, before I'd be dragged away. Once you get abroad who's to know what happens to you?""I don't know what their powers are," said Jenny. "I wish I did."CHAPTER XXVIIITHE interview between Mrs Boger and Jenny had been stormy, but indecisive. More than ever she had done before, Jenny had held her own. At any rate she had refused to answer questions or to make promises. She would not say how often she had met Major Charlton before, or whether he had proposed to her, or whether there was an understanding of any kind between them."He is a notorious flirt," said Mrs Boger, pursing her lips.Jenny looked out of the window and did not speak."My duty to your father makes it imperative that you should be guarded from men of that stamp."Jenny's sensitive mouth betrayed amusement and incredulity, though she tried to look as grave as a judge."It is not likely that he would have serious intentions. From a worldly point of view, he is extremely eligible.""You admit that!" said Jenny."I should be a simpleton if I did not. My objections to him are moral, and I cannot enter into them with you. But I shall write to your father at once."Jenny could not prevent that, so again she was silent. Her reticence roused Mrs Boger more effectually than argument could have done, and until the dressing bell rang she stormed at the girl, calling her sly, ungrateful, untrustworthy and fickle."Why fickle?" said Jenny, getting up at the sound of the bell."You know very well what Archie's hopes are.""I take no interest in Archie, Mrs Boger.""You tell me that, after all that has passed between you.""Nothing has ever passed between us except dislike. I am sorry to speak so of your son, but you drive me to it."Mrs Boger, standing mountainously on the hearthrug, looked down at Jenny as if she would gladly have whipped her. And Jenny remembered the time when the least resistance or misbehaviour on her part would have been punished in this way. She had been cowed into obedience as a child, and the habit of fear and submission had remained until now, when she felt desperate. Even now she felt miserably uncertain where resistance would lead her, and whether it would avail. She placed no reliance on her father, and as far as she knew Mrs Boger's power over her would last another two years. She could not refuse to go abroad, and when discussion was resumed after dinner she was told that she could pack her clothes next day, because the day after they would take the road."I shall place you with Madame Lefevre in Brussels and come back here to shut up the house," said Mrs Boger, and the plan was about as agreeable to Jenny as the threat of the convent to a recalcitrant daughter in the Middle Ages. Madame Lefevre was one of two acid old women who would never let her out of their sight, would feed her scantily, and would blight her spirits with the mildew and bad temper of their own lives. Mrs Boger had once left her a week with them, and the thought of going there again made her shudder."I should go mad if I was left there long," she said to herself, and next day she told Priscilla of the prospect held out to her."Don't you worry, miss," said Priscilla cheerfully, and after lunch, when Jenny was still packing, she heard the parlourmaid's voice just within the door."Yes, come in, Priscilla," she said, looking up from her trunk."I thought I'd let you know, miss," said Priscilla. "I've sent a letter to the Major. My father has taken it into Daneswick.""To Daneswick!""Yes, miss. The Major, he told me yesterday he had a meeting, and father, he'll find out where it is and get the letter to him. I thought we'd be on the safe side, because it might so happen you'd have left the Vicarage before he arrived.""It might easily happen," said Jenny. "But what have you said, Priscilla?""Just told him you were off to-morrow unless he could prevent it, miss.""He can't possibly prevent it," said Jenny. Meanwhile Mrs Boger, in the library, was telling her son what she thought of him."You're too idle to make money, and you haven't even sense enough to marry it," she said. "If Jenny slips through your fingers you've only yourself to blame.""She won't look at me," said Archie sulkily."There's no need for her to look at you. A girl likes to be captured. At heart women are as primitive now as when they were savages and courted with clubs.""I can't court Jenny with a club. I'd do it if I could. Her money would suit me very well.""Of course it would. I've set my heart on your having it. But I can't make love to her for you.""She only looks sick if I try it.""Then you haven't tried the right way. I've nursed the girl for you all these years. I've kept her like a nun. The moment I saw a man look at her I shouldered him away. I've not allowed her to make friends, because you never know what may come of that. I've thrown you together till everyone who knows us imagines you have an understanding. What is there left for you to do? Just to take a little trouble and coax her, or kiss her, or bully her. . . . Aren't you man enough to get what you want--when it's ready to your hand?""I can ask her any minute if that's what you mean, but what's the good of it? She hates us both like poison, and as for keeping her like a nun!--what about Charlton?"Mrs Boger beat an impatient tattoo on the library table, and looked at Archie almost as angrily as she had looked at Jenny the night before. He was lolling at full length on a sofa, his waistcoat was undone, his tie loosened, and his hair dishevelled. His mouth looked as if he could not be at the trouble to shut it, and his eyes were heavy with laziness and lunch."Now you've waited so long you had better wait a few weeks longer," she said unwillingly. "I'm going to take her to the Lefevres at Brussels. When she has been there six or seven weeks she'll come away with anyone who fetches her. You can go and see her there.""I'd like to get it settled now," said Archie. "It's very boring hanging round a girl and not knowing where you are.""It would be more boring if you mulled the whole business.""You evidently don't know your own mind," said Archie. "Just now you were rounding on me because I shilly-shallied, and when I say I'll propose to her you want me to wait another six weeks. I'm sick of waitin'.""But you say she won't look at you."Archie got up, yawned and gazed at himself in the mirror over the fireplace. He pulled a small comb from his pocket, and tidied his hair; then he straightened his tie and buttoned his waistcoat."What time are you going to the Vicarage?" he said."At four.""Where is Jenny?""In her room--packing. Shall I send her downstairs? Are you really going to risk it, Archie?""It's pretty important to us, isn't it?""It's vital.""Then leave it to me," the young man drawled, and went jauntily upstairs. He knocked at Jenny's door without speaking, and she said "Come in," taking it for granted it was one of the maids. When she saw Archie on the threshold she stared at him with cold surprise and went out into the corridor to speak to him. Except her hat she was ready for the garden-party, and she looked very elegant and diaphanous in white. She wore a pearl necklace that had belonged to her mother and in her hand she had some roses that she was about to fasten at her waist."I say, you do look ripping," said Archie."What do you want?" said Jenny, frowning."I want to talk to you.""I'm busy now.""You can give me five minutes, can't you?""I'd rather not.""I say, you do cut a man short. You don't give one half a chance."They had walked on a few steps towards a landing window where there was an embrasure and a seat."Let's sit down a minute," said Archie."No," said Jenny nervously. "I've nothing to say to you."She was turning back to her room, but he caught at her wrist and detained her while he spoke."You shall listen," he began."Will you let my hands go!" she said, in a tone of such fierce anger and repulsion that he was startled into obeying her."It's me or Brussels," he blurted out, "You'll hate it there. You'd much better give in and take me. I shouldn't interfere with you. We'd each go our own way. That's my idea of marriage.""It isn't mine," cried Jenny, and before he could follow her, she darted back to her room, slammed the door in his face and locked it. He went down to the library, where his mother awaited him in restless anxiety."Well?" she said."Well?" echoed he, and sprawled on the sofa again."You haven't been long.""I didn't mean to be long.""What luck?""Can't tell yet. I'm not going to rush things.""Have you made a beginning?""I suppose so."Mrs Boger saw that he did not mean to tell her what had passed, and she could not gather from his manner

whether he was more discouraged than he had been before."I think I shall tell one or two people this afternoon what our hopes and wishes are," she said. "I think it's time. We won't have a definite announcement. That can be contradicted. We'll spread a rumour, and that sticks."It was past five o'clock, and the garden-party at the Vicarage was in full swing, when Jenny first noticed that a good many people looked at her and at Archie Boger with the interested, kindly glance a newly engaged couple call forth. At least they looked kindly at Jenny, and those who knew her spoke to her, not with open congratulations, but with more attention than usual, and even some tenderness. She was such a delicate, lovely girl, she had been crying, as anyone could see, and why she was going to marry the second-rate youth who shadowed her no one could understand. But Mrs Parker had told Miss Minchin it was so, and Min Minchin had told this one and the other under sea of secrecy. The news soon spread."I'm afraid we are not going to keep you here much longer," one officious lady said to Jenny."I'm afraid not," said Jenny, thinking of Brussels: and she wondered why her answer, made with a sigh and a melancholy little smile, seemed to surprise Mrs Wickham."Are you going to live in London in future?" another gossip asked her."I have no idea where I am going to live," Jenny said truly."Perhaps you mean to travel?""Yes. We think of it.""How delightful! How I envy you!"Jenny stared at the lady in surprise and disagreement."I would much rather stay here," she said, and walked away, followed as before by Archie."Why don't you go and play tennis?" she said to him impatiently."I'd rather stay with you.""But I would much rather you did not."Archie looked at her with the languishing eyes that had betrayed his case to the Vicarage guests all the afternoon."Let us go and sit down somewhere in the shade," he said affectionately.Jenny, in full view of some people close by, turned her back on him and walked swiftly towards the house. But he followed her."Where are you going?" he said."Indoors.""Good idea. We'll have tea together.""We will not," said Jenny, and when she got into the dining-room she found Priscilla behind one of the long tables that served as a buffet. Archie kept at her elbow."Tea, miss?" said Priscilla."Yes," said Archie. "Tea for two at that little table over there.""I want to speak to you, Priscilla," whispered Jenny."Yes, miss," said Priscilla promptly. "If you'll come upstairs I'll mend it for you.""He hasn't come, Priscilla," said the girl, when she had followed Priscilla upstairs, and found a moment's refuge in one of the Rectory bedrooms."He will come," said Priscilla confidently."But everyone is going. Mrs Boger may go any moment. Suppose he has not had your letter. Sup-

pose he has been detained? If once they get me away, what will happen? I don't know the address of the house in Brussels. The people have moved since I was there. But you told him the name, didn't you, as wrote it down?""You'll not go to Brussels, miss. No fear," said Priscilla cheerfully. "Not if I know the Major.""He can't prevent it. No one can," mourned Jenny.Priscilla looked at the bare toilet-table and unfurnished washstand of the spare room into which they had accidentally strayed."Not so much as a sponge or a powder puff," she murmured, "and anyone can see you've been crying, miss, and are downhearted. You must pluck up a spirit. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll go and see the Major myself to-night, and if he won't run away with you, I will.""What do you mean, Priscilla?""We'll borrow one of his cars and go off to London and stay there till you can be married."Jenny laughed a little and went downstairs again Hoping to avoid Archie Boger, she walked into the drawing-room, but saw that he was there with his mother, Miss Parker, the Vicar and an old lady staying in the house. Everyone else seemed to have gone. It was raining a little now, and they were gathered in a group near the window, watching the weather and discussing the events of the afternoon. The Vicar detached himself from the rest when he saw Jenny, and in his kindly, pompous voice said to her:"Well, my dear, now that we are a small intimate party, may we be allowed to congratulate you?""Congratulate me!" echoed Jenny, turning very white, and looking at Mrs Boger with frightened eyes."On your engagement.""But it isn't certain yet.""So I understand. But rumour says it soon will be.""If my father consents.""I have no anxiety on that score," rasped Mrs Boger, coming forward too. "Your father puts implicit faith in me.""But do you agree to it?""I do. I think you are a lucky girl; but I must say that he is a lucky young man. Archie--"Jenny's eyes turned from one to the other with an expression of bewilderment and then of horror that none of the lookers-on could misread. Archie had come close to her at his mother's summons and was sheepishly smiling, although he saw that his reception was uncertain. At the sight of him advancing towards her Jenny turned towards the opening door and stumbled towards Priscilla, who stood there."Priscilla!" she tried to say, but fell in a heap it the girl's feet, while Major Charlton, who was just behind, ran forward to catch her, but did not succeed."They've killed her," he said savagely."Oh no, sir; they've only badgered her into feeling a bit faint," said Priscilla, stooping over Jenny, who certainly did look more dead than alive, as she lay there with closed eyes and white lips."Most extraordinary," said the Vicar, who had dashed off for brandy and now came back with it. "We were just congratulating the young lady on her engagement--""To me?" said the Major."To you! No, my dear man, to Mr Archie Boger.""No wonder she fainted," said the Major, helping Priscilla to administer the brandy."You're so late, sir. She thought you weren't coming," said Priscilla reproachfully."What have you to do with it? Go out of the room," commanded Mrs Boger, looking as black as thunder."No, don't go, Priscilla," said Jenny, opening her eyes, but not quite herself yet. So Priscilla stayed."I got your letter," said Major Charlton to the parlourmaid. Then he went on speaking, but addressed himself to the Vicar. The Bogers, mother and son, he ignored entirely."Miss Udall and I are going to be married at once," he announced. "I have her father's consent.""What's that?" said Mrs Boger, pushing herself forward."By cable. I waited for it. That's why I'm late. I sent him one as long as a letter yesterday. Cost me pounds and pounds. Here's his answer.""Let me see it," said Mrs Boger, and almost snatched the paper from Major Charlton."It's all right, Jenny," said the young man, turning to the girl, who was sitting up now, but still looked shaken and white. "Your father's a trump. Didn't lose a minute. Came across a man who knew me, luckily. Wants us to go out there for a honeymoon. We will, if you are up to it.""I refuse to have the marriage from my house," bellowed Mrs Boger. "I wash my hands of the whole affair. Archie, come home!""My dear, my house is open to you," the Vicar said to Jenny, who looked distressed by Mrs Boger's chagrin."Thank you," said Major Charlton."Priscilla!" said Mrs Boger, stopping the girl

who, now that she had placed Jenny on a sofa, was about to leave the room."Yes, m'm," said Priscilla, with formal civility."You will pack Miss Udall's things and your own, and leave the house to-night. I consider that you have behaved with duplicity and impertinence.""Yes, m'm," said Priscilla."But what has Priscilla done?" said the Vicar."Mrs Boger meant to carry Jenny off to Brussels to-morrow and shut her up there," said Major Charlton. "Priscilla let me know of it, luckily. I might not have hurried here otherwise.""I leave my reputation behind me," said Mrs Boger, waving her starers at people. "Come, Archie!"Archie came, a dejected and ill-humoured youth, inclined to blame his mother for the sudden check to all their hopes."You ought to have come to London as I wanted you to," he began."You'll go to London to-morrow, and you'll earn your own living henceforward," said Mrs Boger, who was not in the humour for any nonsense. "I shall go to Montreux for the winter. In future my income will be enough for one and not for two. You had better understand that plainly.""Can't you get hold of another girl with money?" said Archie."I'm not going to try," said Mrs Boger; and she was thunderously silent till she reached home and sent for Priscilla."Here are your wages up to to-night," she said viciously. "And don't come to me for a character.""No, m'm," said Priscilla. "I've done with characters.""What do you mean?""I'm going to be married, m'm."Mrs Boger gave an angry, grudging grunt and dismissed her. But when Jenny saw Priscilla again she pulled the girl to her with both hands and kissed her."You'll make such a good wife," she said."Yes, miss," said Priscilla."I'm going to be married next week. You'll stay with me till then, won't you?""If Miss Parker is agreeable, miss.""When are you going to be married?""Very soon. I got my clothes to see to.""I'm going to give you those, Priscilla, and the Major is going to furnish one of your rooms. He has just said so."Priscilla looked at the young lady with wide-open grey eyes, too much overcome to speak."I done nothing to deserve all that," she said."But we both like you," said Jenny."I'm glad we're all going to be so joyful," said Priscilla.THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH