"I can slide the doors to," Jincy suggested, as she stood hesitatingly
in the wide opening.

"And cut off all the air!" was the tart response. "From now on I want
you to pick times for this sort of work when I'm out of the house. My
life is one eternal jumping about to accommodate you. I want comfort,
and I'm going to have it."

Shrugging her shoulders, the maid left the room. Mitchell had seated
himself near an open window and taken up his paper when his daughter
came down the steps and entered. She was above medium height, had
abundant chestnut hair, blue eyes, a good figure, and regular
features, the best of which was a sweet, thin-lipped, sensitive mouth.
She had on a blue kimono and dainty slippers, and moved with luxurious
ease and grace.

"You ought to have more patience with the servants, father," she said,
testily. "Jincy is slow enough, heaven knows, without you giving her
excuses for being behind with her work. Now she will go to the kitchen
and hinder the cook. If you only knew how much trouble servants are to
manage you'd be more tactful. Half a dozen women in this town want
that girl, and she knows it. Mrs. Anderson wants to take her to New
York to nurse her baby, and she would propose it if she wasn't afraid
I'd be angry."

Mitchell shook out his paper impatiently and scanned the head-lines
over his nose-glasses. "You don't seem very much interested in my trip
downtown, I must say."

"Well, perhaps I would be," she smiled, "but, you see, I know from