it was comparatively simple to do for them. For _la
noblesse Anglaise_ it was different.

There were no men to be seen, and the three or four women of the
household were scuttling about crazily in the kitchen, like hens with
their heads cut off. The patronage was so illustrious and so large;
there was so much to do and all at once, therefore nobody tried to do
anything but cackle and plump against one another.

Enter Me, a whirlwind, demanding an immediate fire and hot water for
washing. Landlady and assistants were aghast. There had never been
anything in any bedroom fireplace of the inn less innocent than paper
flowers; bedroom fireplaces were for paper flowers; while as for washing
it was a _betise_ to want to do so in the evening, especially with hot
water, which was a madness at any time, unless by doctor's orders.
Besides, did not mademoiselle see that everybody had more than they
could do already, in preparing dinner for the great people! There was
plenty of time to put the bedroom in order when it should be bedtime. If
the noble lady were so fatigued that she must lie down, why, the bed
had only been slept in for one night by two particularly sympathetic
messieurs. It would be _presque un crime_ to change linen after so brief
an episode, nevertheless for a client of such importance it should
eventually be done.

For a moment I was dashed by this volume of eloquence, but not for long,
for I was pledged. A wild glance round the kitchen showed me a kettle
standing empty in a corner. I seized it, and though it was heavy, swung
it to an open door near which I could see a ghostly pump. I flew out,
and seized that ghost by its long and rigid arm.

"Let me," said a voice.

It was the voice of Mr. Jack Dane.

CHAPTER XXII

"You dear!" I thought. But I only said, "How sweet of you!" in a nice,
ladylike tone. And while he pumped the wettest and coldest water I ever
felt, he drily advised me to call him "Adversity" if I found his "uses
sweet," since he wasn't to be Jack for me. What if he had known that I
always call him "Jack" to myself?

He not only pumped the kettle full, but carried it into the kitchen, and
bullied or flattered the goddesses there until they gave him the hottest
place for it on the red-hot stove. Meanwhile, as my eyes accustomed
themselves to darkness after light, I spied in the courtyard of the pump
a shed piled with wood; and my uncomfortably prophetic soul said that if
Lady Turnour