I told you how pretty it would be, if you would only brush it more."

"Well, I never 'ad no brush till you give me your old one," said Eliza
practically. "I did brush it, though, a nundred times every night, till
Cook reckoned I was fair cracked. But 'air's on'y 'air, an' anyone 'as
it--it's not every one 'as an 'at like that." She clattered plates upon
the table violently. "You goin' out this awfternoon, Miss?"

"As soon as I can, Eliza." Cecilia's face fell. "I must arrange flowers
first."

"I'll 'ave the vawses all ready wiv clean water for you," said Eliza.
"An' don't you worry about the drorin'-room--I'll see as it's nice."

"Oh, you can't, Eliza--you have no time. I know it's silver-cleaning
afternoon."

"Aw, I'll squeeze it in some'ow." Eliza stopped suddenly, at a decided
footstep in the passage, and began to rattle spoons and forks with a
vigour born of long practice. Cecilia picked up the inky cloth, and went
out.

Her stepmother was standing by the hall-stand, apparently intent on
examining Wilfred's straw hat. She spoke in a low tone as the girl
passed her.

"I wish you did not find so much pleasure in gossiping with servants,
Cecilia. It is such a bad example for Avice. I have spoken about it to
you before."