ech, and much that followed was inaudible to old Maisie.
Who of course supposed _she_ was the plaguy old cat!

Then Mary Anne became audible again, confirming this view:--"Is that her
room?" For the subject of the conversation had changed in that inaudible
phase--changed from Mrs. Masham to the queer old soul her young ladyship
had pitchforked down in the middle of the household.

"That's her room now. Old Mashey has been turned out. She's next door.
She's supposed to look after her and see she wants for nothing.... _I_
don't know. Perhaps she does. _I_ wash my hands." At this point the poor
old listener heard no more. What she _had_ heard was a great shock to
her; really almost as great a shock as the crash at Sapps Court. She
found her way back to her chair and sat and cried, in the darkened room.
She was a plaguy old cat, and Miss Lutwyche, with whom she had been on
very good terms in Cavendish Square, had washed her hands of her! Then,
when the servants here were attentive to her--and they were all right,
as far as that went--it was mere deceptiousness, and they were wishing
her at Jericho.

She was conscious that the lady's-maid and Mary Anne came back, still
talking. But she had closed the door, and was glad she could not hear
what they were saying. A few minutes after, Mrs. Masham appeared from
her own room close by, having apparently recovered her temper. But, said
old Maisie to herself, all this was sheer hypocrisy; a mere timeserver's
assumption of civility towards a plaguy old cat!

"You'll be feeling ready for your bit of supper, Mrs. Pilcher," said the
housekeeper; who, having been snubbed by Miss Lutwyche for saying
"Pilchard," had made compromise. She could not be expected to accept
"Picture." The bit of supper was behind her on a tray, borne by Lupin.
"Why--you're all in the dark!" She rebuked the servant-girl because
there were no matches, and on production of a box from the latter's
pocket, magnanimously lit the candles with her own hands, continuing the
while to reproach her subordinate for neglect of the guest entrusted to
her charge. That guest's thought being, meanwhile, what a shocking
hypocrite this woman was. Probably Mrs. Masham was no more a hypocrite
than old Maisie was an old cat. That is to say, if the latter
designation meant a termagant or scold. There must be now and again, in
Nature, a person without a hall-mark of either Heaven or Hell, and Mrs.
Masham may have had none. In that rec