to him and took his arm
and said:

"A very fine speech. We'll go in to our dinner now--and later we'll get
a pencil and paper, and we won't stop until everything's right."

There came for Ethel busy days.

The next morning she went to the nursery and told the nurse she would
have to go. "I'm sorry," she added and then stopped short, startled by
the woman's face. The way her eyes went to Susette made something leap
in Ethel's breast. The nurse wheeled sharply:

"What have I done! What's the matter with me?" Her voice was strained.

"Nothing. There has been nothing at all." Ethel found it hard to speak.
"You've been--quite wonderful with Susette. The trouble is that Mr.
Lanier has found he must cut expenses."

"Oh. Then why am I the one?" She broke off and grew rigid, but her
thought struck into Ethel's mind: "Why am I the one? Why don't you go!
What good are _you_ here?"

"I'm sorry," Ethel repeated. "I wish I could keep you, but I can't.
I'll have to take care of Susette myself--"

"You?"

"Yes, and you'll have to teach me how."

"I won't!"

"You mean you'll let her suffer because you haven't shown me things?
No, no, I'm sure you'll be sensible. You'll stay on a few days and help
me, and meanwhile I'll do all I can to find you a good position. I only
hope I can get you back again in the autumn. You see it may only be for
a time." She went to the nurse, who now had her arms about the child.
"I'm so sorry. Remember I want you back."

There were tears in Ethel's eyes as she left the nursery. "Whew!" She
went into her own small room. "I wonder if I'll ever feel like that
about a child?" She stared a moment and added, "That was real enough,
poor thing." She drew a resolute breath. "Well, no use in feeling like
a criminal, my dear. Now for the cook and the waitress."

She rather took satisfaction in that, for she had disliked both of them
keenly. She gave them until the end of the week, and in the meantime
telegraphed for Emily Giles, who for over five years had helped her keep
house for her father at home. Of medium height, spare, thin chested and
thin lipped, her hair already streaked with grey, Emily had been less a
servant than a grimly devoted friend. Since Ethel's departure, she had
been head-waitress at the small hotel.

"Emily will come," thought Ethel, "unless she's dead or paralysed."

And Emily came.

"Well, Miss Ethel, here I am," she said on her arrival. She said, "Miss
Ethel" quite natur