prospect of its being lost as I did. At last, when I declared my
intention of writing Carter Paterson's about it on her behalf, she
confessed. Frankness is one of her distinguishing qualities.

'My box is still at my friend's,' she explained. 'You see, when I goes
to a new place I never 'ave my luggage sent on until I feel I'm going
to settle. It saves a lot o' bother--if I don't stop.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' I commented feebly.

'I brought a clean cap and another pair o' stockings with me, so I'm
all right for a fortnight,' she went on. Her creed, like her change of
underclothing, was obviously simple. Mournfully I withdrew from the
kitchen to meditate.

So we were on probation. It was a tremulous time. I bade Henry tread
softly and not to forget to rub his feet on the mat. I gave all my
orders to Elizabeth in a voice which blended deference with
supplication. I strove hard to live up to what I thought must be her
conception of the Perfect Mistress. And when, the fortnight expired,
Carter Paterson drove up and deposited a small corded box on the hall
mat, I felt it to be a personal triumph. But Henry said I had nothing
to do with it. To this day he declares that Elizabeth decided to stop
because she so earnestly desired to serve such a gentle master.




CHAPTER III