e people, and to
have a repast prepared for her by this cook of high degree flattered her
vanity and wonderfully pleased her. Her soul warmed toward the good woman
who was warming and cheering her body.

"I say it again," remarked La Fleur, "that I cannot think what that old
lady should want to look after in this house."

"Now look here, madam," said Phoebe, "it's jes' nothin' at all. It's
jes' the most nonsensical thing that ever was. I don't mind tellin' you
about it; don't mind it a bit. She wants Mr. Hav'ley to marry Miss Dora
Bannister, an' she's on pins an' needles to know if the young woman here
is likely to ketch him. That's all there is 'bout it. She don't care two
snaps for Mike, an' I reckon he don't want no looking after anyway."

"No, indeed," answered the other; "I take the best of care of him. Miss
Panney must be dreadful afraid of our young lady, eh?"

"That's jes' what she is," said Phoebe. "I wonder she didn't take Mr.
Hav'ley along with her when she went to the seashore."

La Fleur's eyes sparkled.

"Now come, Phoebe," said she; "what on earth did she want you to do
here?"

Phoebe took a long draught of tea, and put down the cup, with a sigh
of content.

"Oh, nothin'," said she. "She jes' wanted me to spy round, an' see if Mr.
Hav'ley an' Miss Drane was fallin' in love with each other, an' then I
was to go an' tell her about it the mornin' before she started. Now I'll
have to keep it 'til she comes back, but I reckon thar ain't nothin' to
tell about."

La Fleur laughed. "Nothing at all," said she. "You might stay here a week
and you wouldn't see any lovemaking between those two. They don't as much
as think of such a thing. So you need not put yourself to any trouble
about that part of Miss Panney's errand. Here comes your good Michael,
and I think you will find that he is doing very well."

About ten minutes after this, when Phoebe and Mike had gone off to talk
over their more than semi-detached domestic affairs, La Fleur took the
telegram from the drawer, replaced it in its envelope, which she closed
and fastened so neatly that no one would have supposed that it had been
opened. Then she took from a shelf a railroad time-table, which lay in
company with her cookbook and a few other well-worn volumes; for the good
cook cared for reading very much as she cared for her own mayonnaise
dressing; she wanted but little at a time, but she liked it.

"The last train to the city seems to be seven-