. "Needs must when the Devil drives;" but as matters were, Dan and I
could well have afforded domestic assistance. It rankled in my mind that
to fit in with the foolish fad of old Deleglise, I the future Dickens,
Thackeray and George Eliot, Kean, Macready and Phelps rolled into one,
should be compelled to the performance of menial duties. On this morning
of all others, my brilliant literary career just commenced, the anomaly
of the thing appeared naturally more glaring.

Besides, how came she to know I swept the crumbs under the mat--that it
was my method? Had she and Dan been discussing me, ridiculing me behind
my back? What right had Dan to reveal the secrets of our menage to this
chit of a school-girl? Had he done so? or had she been prying, poking
her tilted nose into matters that did not concern her? Pity it was she
had no mother to occasionally spank her, teach her proper behaviour.

"Where I sweep our crumbs is nothing to do with you," I replied with
some spirit. "That I have to sweep them at all is the fault of your
father. A sensible girl--"

"How dare you speak against my father!" she interrupted me with blazing
eyes.

"We will not discuss the question further," I answered, with sense and
dignity.

"I think you had better not!" she retorted.

Turning her back on me, she commenced to gather up her hairpins--there
must have been about a hundred of them. I assisted her to the extent of
picking up about twenty, which I handed to her with a bow: it may have
been a little stiff, but that was only to be expected. I wished to show
her that her bad example had not affected my own manners.

"I am sorry my presence should have annoyed you," I said. "It was quite
an accident. I entered the room thinking your father was here."

"When you saw he wasn't, you might have gone out again," she replied,
"instead of hiding yourself behind a picture."

"I didn't hide myself," I explained. "The easel happened to be in the
way."

"And you stopped there and watched me."

"I couldn't help it."

She looked round and our eyes met. They were frank, grey eyes. An
expression of merriment shot into them. I laughed.

Then she laughed: it was a delightful laugh, the laugh one would have
expected from her.

"You might at least have coughed," she suggested.

"It was so amusing," I pleaded.

"I suppose it was," she agreed, and held out her hand. "Did I hurt you?"
she asked.

"Yes, you did," I answered, taking it.

"Well, i