anything but absolutely boiling water. Yet morning after morning I
sprang from my bed to find the contents of my jug just a little over
or under the tepid mark. There was no question of re-heating the
water on the gas stove, for I never allowed myself more than the very
minimum of time for dressing, swallowing my breakfast and catching my
train. It was torture.

I spoke to Emily about it, mildly at first, more forcibly as the weeks
wore on, passionately at last. She apologised, she sighed, she wrung
her hands. Once she wept--shed hot scalding tears, tears I could
gladly have shaved in had they fallen half-an-hour earlier. But it
made no difference; next morning my water was as chill as ever.
I could not understand it. Every day my wrath grew blacker, my
reproaches more vehement.

Finally an hour came when I said to my wife, "One of two things must
happen. Either that girl goes or I grow a beard."

Mildred shook her head. "We can't possibly part with her. We should
never get another servant like her."

"Very well," I said.

On the morrow I started for my annual holiday, alone. It was late
summer. I journeyed into the wilds of Wiltshire. I took two rooms in
an isolated cottage, and on the first night of my stay, before getting
into bed, I threw my looking-glass out of the window. Next morning
I began. Day by day I tramped the surrounding country, avoiding all
intercourse with humanity, and day by day my beard grew.