ir built into an elaborate reflection of the prevailing
fashion. She was hedged round with a great peace, the peace of one who
has attained a desired end with much effort and perseverance, and who has
found it still eminently desirable in its attainment. The Duke of Syria
had consented to come beneath her roof as a guest, was even now installed
beneath her roof, and would shortly be sitting at her dining-table. As a
good Socialist, Sophie disapproved of social distinctions, and derided
the idea of a princely caste, but if there were to be these artificial
gradations of rank and dignity she was pleased and anxious to have an
exalted specimen of an exalted order included in her house-party. She
was broad-minded enough to love the sinner while hating the sin--not that
she entertained any warm feeling of personal affection for the Duke of
Syria, who was a comparative stranger, but still, as Duke of Syria, he
was very, very welcome beneath her roof. She could not have explained
why, but no one was likely to ask her for an explanation, and most
hostesses envied her.

"You must surpass yourself to-night, Richardson," she said complacently
to her maid; "I must be looking my very best. We must all surpass
ourselves."

The maid said nothing, but from the concentrated look in her eyes and the
deft play of her fingers it was evident that she was beset with the
ambition to surpass herself.

A knock came at the door, a quiet but peremptory knock, as of some one
who would not be denied.

"Go and see who it is," said Sophie; "it may be something about the
wine."

Richardson held a hurried conference with an invisible messenger at the
door; when she returned there was noticeable a curious listlessness in
place of her hitherto alert manner.

"What is it?" asked Sophie.

"The household servants have 'downed tools,' madame," said Richardson.

"Downed tools!" exclaimed Sophie; "do you mean to say they've gone on
strike?"

"Yes, madame," said Richardson, adding the information: "It's Gaspare
that the trouble is about."

"Gaspare?" said Sophie wanderingly; "the emergency chef! The omelette
specialist!"

"Yes, madame. Before he became an omelette specialist he was a valet,
and he was one of the strike-breakers in the great strike at Lord
Grimford's two years ago. As soon as the household staff here learned
that you had engaged him they resolved to 'down tools' as a protest. They
haven't got any grievance against you pe