"You have done wrong," said her ladyship, severely. "I am your mistress.
You are bound to answer your mistress--"

Hester Dethridge bowed her head, in icy acknowledgment of the principle
laid down--so far.

The bow was an interruption. Lady Lundie resented it.

"But Miss Blanche is _not_ your mistress," she went on, sternly. "You
are very much to blame for answering Miss Blanche's inquiries about Miss
Silvester."

Hester Dethridge, perfectly unmoved, wrote her justification on her
slate, in two stiff sentences: "I had no orders _not_ to answer. I keep
nobody's secrets but my own."

That reply settled the question of the cook's dismissal--the question
which had been pending for months past.

"You are an insolent woman! I have borne with you long enough--I will
bear with you no longer. When your month is up, you go!"

In those words Lady Lundie dismissed Hester Dethridge from her service.

Not the slightest change passed over the sinister tranquillity of
the cook. She bowed her head again, in acknowledgment of the sentence
pronounced on her--dropped her slate at her side--turned about--and left
the room. The woman was alive in the world, and working in the world;
and yet (so far as all human interests were concerned) she was as