only be a marmalade-making machine. They never let me have any
responsibility--no, not even when mother's operation was on--and I'm never
officially free. The kitchen-maid has far more responsibility than I have.
And she has an evening off and an afternoon off. She can write a letter
without everybody asking her who she's writing to. She's only seventeen.
She has the morning postman for a young man now, and probably one or two
others that I don't know of. And she has money and she buys her own
clothes. She's a very naughty, wicked girl, and I wish I was in her place.
She scorns me, naturally. Who wouldn't?"

Miss Ingate said not a word. She merely sat with her hands in the lap of
her spotted pale-blue dress, faintly and sadly smiling.

Audrey burst out:

"Miss Ingate, what can I do? I must do something. What can I do?"

Miss Ingate shook her head, and put her lips tightly together, while
mechanically smoothing the sides of her grey coat.

"I don't know," she said. "It beats me."

"Then _I'll_ tell you what I can do!" answered Audrey firmly, wriggling
somewhat nearer to her along the floor. "And what I shall do."

"What?"

"Will you promise to keep it a secret?"

Miss Ingate nodded, smiling and showing her teeth. Her broad polished