"A nice time of night for you to be back!" barked the bronchitic voice
hoarsened by years of shut windows. "Give you an inch and you take an
ell! I told you half-past ten. Here it is eleven!"

Annesley looked up as if surprised. "Oh, Mrs. Ellsworth, you frightened
me!" she exclaimed. "I was delayed. But it won't be eleven for ten
minutes. This dining-room clock keeps such good time, you know. And I've
been in the house for a few moments. I thought I came so softly! I'm
sorry I waked you up."

"Waked me up!" repeated Mrs. Ellsworth. "I have not been to sleep. I
never can close my eyes when I know anybody is out and has got to come
back, especially a careless creature as likely as not to leave the front
door unlatched. That's why I said half-past ten at _latest_! If I don't
fall asleep before eleven I get nervous and lose my night's rest. You've
heard me say that twenty times, yet you have _no_ consideration!"

"This is the first time I've been out late," Annesley defended herself.
As she spoke she looked at Mrs. Ellsworth as she might have looked at a
stranger.

This fat old woman, with hard eyes, low, unintelligent forehead, and
sneering yet self-indulgent mouth, had been for five years the mistress
of her fate. The slave had feared to speak lest she should say the wrong
thing, had hesitated before taking the most insignificant step, knowing
that Mrs. Ellsworth's sharp tongue would accuse her of foolishness or
worse. But now Annesley wondered at her bondage. If only the man upstairs
could escape, never again would she be afraid of this old tyrant.

"You don't need to tell me how long you have been in," said Mrs.