tay?"

"Take off my bonnet?" said Mrs. Bread, with timid literalness. "Oh, sir,
I haven't my cap. And with your leave, sir, I couldn't keep house in my
best gown."

"Never mind your gown," said Newman, cheerfully. "You shall have a
better gown than that."

Mrs. Bread stared solemnly and then stretched her hands over her
lustreless satin skirt, as if the perilous side of her situation were
defining itself. "Oh, sir, I am fond of my own clothes," she murmured.

"I hope you have left those wicked people, at any rate," said Newman.

"Well, sir, here I am!" said Mrs. Bread. "That's all I can tell you.
Here I sit, poor Catherine Bread. It's a strange place for me to be. I
don't know myself; I never supposed I was so bold. But indeed, sir, I
have gone as far as my own strength will bear me."

"Oh, come, Mrs. Bread," said Newman, almost caressingly, "don't make
yourself uncomfortable. Now's the time to feel lively, you know."

She began to speak again with a trembling voice. "I think it would be
more respectable if I could--if I could"--and her voice trembled to a
pause.

"If you could give up this sort of thing altogether?" said Newman
kindly, trying to anticipate her meaning, which he supposed might be a
wish to retire from service.

"If I could give up everything, sir! All I should ask is a decent
Protestant burial."

"Burial!" cried Newman, with a burst of laughter. "Why, to bury you now
would be a sad piece of extravagance. It's only rascals who have to be
buried to get respectable. Honest folks like you and me can live our
time out--and live together. Come! Did you bring your baggage?"

"My box is locked and corded; but I haven't yet spoken to my lady."

"Speak to her, then, and have done with it. I should like to have your
chance!" cried Newman.

"I would gladly give it you, sir. I have passed some weary hours in my
lady's dressing-room; but this will be one of the longest. She will tax
me with ingratitude."

"Well," said Newman, "so long as you can tax her with murder--"

"Oh, sir, I can't; not I," sighed Mrs. Bread.

"You don't mean to say anything about it? So much the better. Leave that
to me."

"If she calls me a thankless old woman," said Mrs. Bread, "I shall have
nothing to say. But it is better so," she softly added. "She shall be my
lady to the last. That will be more respectable."

"And then you will come to me and I shall be your gentleman," said
Newman; "that will be more respectable st