that.

As I have said, Elizabeth never listens at doors.

CHAPTER VII

(William--although he has a great regard for Pepys--does not himself
keep a diary. From time to time, however, he 'chronicles the
outstanding events in his career,' as he puts it. The following is one
of William's 'chronicles,' which shows more knowledge than I have of
the happenings in this chapter.)

_William's Story_: The more I think of it the more terrible the thing
becomes from every aspect. Who could have thought that I, only a few
days ago placidly drifting down the stream of life, should be jerked
into such a maelstrom of difficulties? I must, however, try to think
calmly. As Dr. Johnson has said, 'One of the principal themes of moral
instruction is the art of bearing calamities.'

Let me try to narrate the events in their order--to trace, as far as
possible, how this particular calamity occurred.

It began with Elizabeth. Or, I should say, she was the bearer of those
disastrous tidings which have robbed me of my peace of mind and given
me nights of sleepless horror.

Elizabeth, I ought to explain, is employed at the house of my friends,
the Warringtons, as domestic worker. Up to the time of which I write I
had barely observed the girl, beyond remarking that she was exceedingly
lank as to form, and had a distressing habit of breathing very heavily
when serving at table, due, I thought, to asthmatic tendencies.

I learned later that it only betokened anxiety lest she should drop the
various vessels she was handing round.

The circumstances which brought her particularly under my notice were
singular. I had called at the Warringtons' one evening to have a smoke
and chat with Henry, as is my wont. Elizabeth, after showing me into
the study, told me that her master had gone out, but asked me to wait
as he was expected to return every minute. I settled myself down,
therefore, reached out for the tobacco jar, while my feet sought the
familiar ledge below the mantelpiece, when I observed that Elizabeth
was hovering in my vicinity.

'Excuse me, sir,' she said, speaking with apparent hesitation,
'but--but--do you mind if I speak to you?'

'Why shouldn't you speak to me if you want to?' I said, surprised and
rather puzzled.

'Well, you see, sir, it's a bit 'ard to tell you. I dunno how to begin
exactly--makes me feel like a cat treadin' on 'ot plates.' I quote
exactly the rough vernacular of the lower classes in whic