ttractive one. Her housemaid was a treasure. She
was English and her name was Rachel. Nellie's personal maid and
dresser was French. Her name was Rebecca. When Miss Duluth and Rebecca
left the apartment to go to the theatre in the former's electric
brougham, Rachel put the place in order. So enormous was the task that
she barely had it finished when her mistress returned, tired and
sleepy, to litter it all up again with petticoats, stockings, roses,
orchids, lobster shells, and cigarette stubs. More often than
otherwise Nellie brought home girls from the theatre to spend the
night with her. Poor things, they were chorus girls, just as she had
been, and they had so far to go. Besides, they served as excuses for
declining unwelcome invitations to supper. Be that as it may, Rachel
had to clean up after them, finding their puffs, rats, and switches in
the morning and the telephone number at their lodgings in the middle
of the night. She had her instructions to say that such young ladies
were spending the night with Miss Duluth.

"If you don't believe it, call up Miss Duluth's number in the
telephone book," she always concluded, as if the statement needed
verification.

Nellie had not been in Tarrytown for a matter of three weeks; what
with rehearsals, revisions, consultations, and suppers, she just
couldn't get around to it. The next day after Harvey's inglorious
stand before Bridget she received a letter from him setting forth the
whole affair in a peculiarly vivid light. He said that something would
have to be done about Bridget and advised her to come out on the
earliest day possible to talk it over with him. He confessed to a
hesitancy about discharging the cook, recalling the trouble she had
experienced in getting her away from a neighbour in the first place.
But Bridget was drinking and quarrelling with Annie and using strong
language in the presence of Phoebe. He would have discharged her long
ago if it hadn't been for the fear of worrying her during rehearsals
and all that. She wasn't to be bothered with trifling household
squabbles at such an important time as this. No, sir! Not if he could
help it. But, just the same, he thought she'd better come out and talk
it over before Bridget took it into her head to poison some one.

"I really, truly must go up to Tarrytown next Sunday," said Nellie to
the select company supping in her apartment after the performance that
night. "Harvey's going to discharge the cook."