Then the housemaid came running down the stairs singing into the kitchen,
dusting-brush and dust-pan in her hands--a pretty girl with dark merry
bright eyes, and her brown hair worn frizzled on her forehead.

"My!" she exclaimed, starting back at seeing Fan. And after surveying her
for some time with a mocking smile playing about the corners of her
pretty ripe mouth, she said, "Is this one of your poor relations, Mrs.
Topping?"

"No, Rosie; that she ain't. The missus gave her the steps to clean, and
told her to wait here till she got back."

The maid burst into a ringing peal of laughter. "Fancy, Miss Starbrow!"
she exclaimed. "Where do you come from?" she continued, addressing Fan.
"Whitechapel? Seven Dials?"

Fan reddened with shame and anger, and refused to reply: stubborn silence
was her only shield against those who scoffed at her extreme poverty; and
that this pretty girl was mocking her she knew very well. Then the maid
sat down and stared at her, and amused herself and fellow-servant with
malicious comments on Fan's dress.

"May I ask you, miss, where you got that lovely hat?" she said. "From
Madame Elise? Why, of course, how could I ask! I assure you it is most
charmingly becoming. I shall try to get one like it, but I'm afraid I
can't go beyond six guineas. And your shawl--a Cashmere, I see. A present
from her Majesty, no doubt."

"Oh, do be quiet, Rosie; you'll kill me!" cried the cook, overcome with