rose and put down his cup. "A lady shouldn't lower herself."

"Dad says a lady can't lower herself by work," retorted Norah. "Anyhow,
if taking tea to dear old Brownie's going to lower me, it'll have to,
that's all!"

"You don't understand," said Cecil. "A lady has her own place, and to
get on terms of familiarity with the lower classes is bad for both her
and them." He looked and felt instructive. "It isn't exactly the action
that counts--it's the spirit it fosters--er--the feeling--that is,
the--er, in short, it's a mistake to--"

"Oh, please be careful, Cecil, you're sitting in some dough!"

Norah sprang forward anxiously, and instructiveness fell from Cecil as
one sheds a garment. He had sat down on the edge of the table in the
flow of his eloquence; now he jumped up angrily, and, muttering
unpleasant things, endeavored to remove dough from his person. Norah
hovered round, deeply concerned. Pastry dough, however, is a clinging
and a greasy product, and finally the wrathful lecturer beat a retreat
towards the sanctuary of his own room, and the cook sat down and shook
with laughter.

"My cake!" she gasped, in the midst of her mirth. She flew to the oven
and rescued Jim's delicacy.

"Thank goodness, it's all right!" said she. Her mirth broke out afresh.

A shadow darkened the doorway.