ing the tea for breakfast.

"Dear Mr. Dacre, _do_ let me relieve you of that task," she cried, her
ribbons fluttering over the sugar-basin. "I never like to see a
gentleman sacrificing himself for his guests at breakfast. You have
enough to do at dinner, carving large joints, and jointing those
terrible birds. At breakfast a gentleman should have no trouble but
the cracking of his own egg and the reading of his own newspaper. Now
do let me!"

Miss Burton's long fingers were almost on the tea-caddy; but at that
moment my father quietly opened it, and began to measure out the tea.

"I never trouble my lady visitors with this," he said, quietly. "I am
only too well accustomed to it."

Child as I was, I felt well satisfied that my father would let no one
fill my mother's place. For so it was, and all Miss Burton's efforts
failed to put her, even for a moment, at the head of his table.

I do not quite know how or when it was that I began to realize that
such was her effort. I remember once hearing a scrap of conversation
between our most respectable and respectful butler and the
housekeeper--"behind the scenes"--as the former worthy came from the
breakfast-room.

"And how's the new missis this morning, Mr. Smith?" asked the
housekeeper, with a bitterness not softened by the prospect of
possible dethronement.

"Another try for the tea-tray, ma'am," replied Smith, "but it's no
go."

"A brazen, black-haired old maid!" cried the housekeeper. "To think of
her taking the place of that sweet angel, Mrs. Dacre (and she barely
two years in her grave), and pretending to act a mother's part by the
poor boy and all. I've no patience!"

On one excuse or another, the Burtons contrived to extend their visit;
and the prospect of a marriage between my father and Miss Burton was
now discussed too openly behind his back for me to fail to hear it.
Then Nurse Bundle on this subject hardly exercised her usual
discretion in withholding me from servants' gossip, and servants'
gossip from me. Her own indignation was strongly aroused, and I had no
difficulty in connecting her tearful embraces, and her allusions to my
dead mother, with the misfortune we all believed to be impending.

[Illustration: The lank lawyer wagged my hand of a morning, and said,
"And how is Miss Eliza's little beau?"]

At first I had admired Miss Burton's bouncing looks. Then my head had
been turned to some extent by her flattery, and by the establishment
of that