Mrs. Meeker wasn't a lady, of course,
but--well, some people look the part better than others."

Miss Mary's brain whirled. The head of the table! The books! It was
impossible. Why, the woman didn't realise that she was talking to
a--a--Patient, then! (They were never called anything but Patients at
Dr. Jarvyse's.)

"I--I'm afraid I haven't the experience," she began tremulously.
"I--sometimes my head--I can't always talk to people----"

"Oh, you talk enough," Mrs. Palmer interrupted, kindly. "That's just
what it is: some talk too much. Mr. Swartout (that's the literary
gentleman in brown--the one with the grey moustache) said you were so
quiet and dignified. You know you sat at the end, today, for
breakfast, and he said to me it would be pleasant if you kept that
place. That's what put it into my head, really. And I guess you've
had experience enough. Miss Jenny, that went with you through the
store when you bought those clothes (I know her, you see) said she'd
never seen seventy dollars used with more judgment nor made to go
further. I noticed what she said." She nodded shrewdly, as one who
knew the world.

"Well, I don't want to urge, but will you or won't you? I'd give board
and lodging and, say, twenty-five a month, till I could do better. The
Palmer House has just got to the point where there'll have to be a
change, or it'll get second-class."

"Very well, I will try," said Miss Mary huskily, and in a moment she
was alone, for Mrs. Palmer was half across the side-yard.

"Just boss that woman, then, and see if she can get the house clean by
evening," she called over her shoulder. "I leave her to you, Miss
Merry, and it's a weight off me, I can tell you!"

If Miss Mary had paused to think, she would have collapsed into tears
and sent for the doctor, but she could not stop, for the cleaning-woman
addressed her briskly.

"I suppose everything better come right out and get a good beating?"
she said, shouldering her mop; and Miss Mary controlled her quivering
lips, pressed her hands to her head, which must not, _could not_ fail
her now, and agreed.

Late in the afternoon Mrs. Palmer dashed over, her hair flying, her
dress untidy.

"Well, how'd you get along?" she began, but paused in the doorway of
the fresh, aired house, taking in, at one eagle glance, the white
curtains behind shining panes, the polished woodwork, the re-arranged
furniture.

"I guess that cleaning-woman met her match," s