Miss Shepperson reflected, she too with an uneasy look on her face. There
was a long silence, broken by a deep sigh from Mr. Rymer, a sigh which was
almost a sob. The other went on drying her plates and dishes, and said at
length that perhaps they might manage with quite a young girl, who would
come for small wages; she herself was willing to help as much as she
could--

'Oh, you shame me, you shame me!' broke in Mr. Rymer, laying a hand on his
forehead, and leaving a black mark there. 'There is no end to your
kindness; but I feel it as a disgrace to us--to me--that you, a
lady of property, should be working here like a servant. It is
monstrous--monstrous!'

At the flattering description of herself Miss Shepperson smiled; her soft
eyes beamed with the light of contentment.

'Don't you give a thought to that, Mr. Rymer,' she exclaimed. 'Why, it's a
pleasure to me, and it gives me something to do--it's good for my health.
Don't you worry. Think about your business, and leave me to look after the
house. It'll be all right.'

A week later Mrs. Rymer was in the way of recovery, and her husband went to
the City as usual. A servant had been engaged--a girl of sixteen, who knew
as much of housework as London girls of sixteen generally do; at all
events, she could carry coals and wash steps. But the mistress of the
house, it was evident, would for a long time be unable to do anything
whatever; the real maid-of-all-work was Miss Shepperson, who rose every
morning at six o'clock, and toiled in one way or another till weary
bedtime. If she left the house, it was to do needful shopping or to take
the children for a walk. Her reward was the admiration and gratitude of the