"I had been intending," he observed in tones he endeavored to make
light, "to tell Miss Van Rolsen she must find some one else to take my
place. It would not be very difficult. It is not a position that
requires a trained man."

"Difficult?" She seemed to have difficulty in speaking the word; her
cold eyes suddenly lighted with unutterable scorn. If any one in this
world ever experienced thorough disdain for any one else, her expression
implied it was she that experienced it for him. "Valet for dogs!"

Mr. Heatherbloom flushed. "They are very nice dogs," he murmured.
"Indeed, they are exceptional."

She gave an abrupt, frozen little laugh; then bent down her face
slightly. "And do you wash and curl and perfume them?" she asked, her
small white teeth setting tightly after she spoke.

"Well, I don't perfume them," answered Mr. Heatherbloom. "Miss Van
Rolsen attends to that herself. She knows the particular essences better
than I." A slightly strained smile struggled about his lips. "You see
Beauty has one kind, and Naughty another. At least, I think so. While
Sardanapolis isn't given any at all."

Can violet eyes shine fiercely? Hers certainly seemed to. "How," she
said, examining him as one would study something very remote and
impersonal, "did my aunt happen to employ--you? I know she is very
particular--about recommendations. What ones did you have? Were they
forged ones," suddenly, "or stolen ones?" The red lips like rosebuds had
become straightly drawn now.