sat together. The mellow sunlight, the garden odours, the warm,
still air, favoured a growth of intimacy.

'By all means,' was Nancy's reply.

'We must begin by admitting that the ordinary woman hates nothing so
much as to have another woman set in authority over her.' He paused,
and laughed lazily. 'Now, before the triumph of glorious Democracy,
only those women kept servants who were capable of rule,--who had
by birth the instinct of authority. They knew themselves the natural
superiors of their domestics, and went through an education fitting
them to rule. Things worked very well; no servant-difficulty
existed. Now-a-days, every woman who can afford it must have another
woman to wait upon her, no matter how silly, or vulgar, or depraved
she may be; the result, of course, is a spirit of rebellion in the
kitchen. Who could have expected anything else?'

Nancy played with a dandelion she had plucked, and gave sign neither
of assent nor disagreement.

'Mrs. Bellamy,' continued the young man, 'marvels that servants
revolt against her. What could be more natural? The servants have
learnt that splendid doctrine that every one is as good as everybody
else, and Mrs. Bellamy is by no means the person to make them see
things differently. And this kind of thing is going on in numberless
houses--an utterly incompetent mistress and a democratic maid in
spirited revolt. The incompetents, being in so vast a majority, will
sooner or later spoil all the servants in the country.'

'You should make an article of it,' said Nancy, 'and send it to _The