so in England, and, if I have a livery, I am not going to stop
half-way. My duty was very clear. When Mr. Cheese came in, I said I
felt awkward in asking a servant about his calves,--it sounded so
queerly. But I confessed that it was necessary.

"Yes, the path of duty is not always smooth, dear Mrs. Potiphar. It is
often thickly strewn with thorns," said he, as he sank back in the
_fautteuil_, and put down his _petit verre of Marasquin_.

Just after he had gone the new footman was announced. I assure you,
although it is ridiculous, I felt quite nervous. But when he came in,
I said calmly--

"Well, James, I am glad you have come."

"Please, ma'am, my name is Henry," said he.

I was astonished at his taking me up so, and said, decidedly--"James,
the name of my footman is always James. You may call yourself what
you please, I shall always call you James."

The idea of the man's undertaking to arrange my servants' names for
me!

Well, he showed me his references, which were very good, and I was
quite satisfied. But there was the terrible calf business that must be
attended to. I put it off a great while, but I had to begin.

"Well, James!"--and there I stopped.