uld have such small compensations as would
result from liking, and being liked in return. Surely among them all
must be found some congenial spirit!

"And are you happily settled with your maids, Mrs Beverley?" enquired
Mrs Ritchards, wife of a City lawyer, who might almost be called
retired, since he went up to town only two or three times a week. Mrs
Ritchards had two subjects of conversation--her garden, and her
servants, and had already unsuccessfully tackled the bride on the former
topic. To her relief the second venture proved a decided draw, for
Grizel leant her elbows on the table, cupped her chin in her hands, and
puckered her face into a network of lines.

"Oh, yes, do let's talk about servants! I'm so interested. I'm making
all sorts of horrible discoveries. My cook wants to go out! A night
out every week. She told me so to-day. She said she'd always been used
to it. I said if it came to that, I'd always been used to having my
dinner. I never knew that cooks _expected_ to go out! Who is to cook
one's dinner if the cook goes out? She said she was accustomed to
prepare a stew, and cold shapes. `Cold Shapes'!" Grizel's voice
dropped to a thrilling note, she lifted her chin, her outstretched
fingers curved and wriggled in expressive distaste. "_Cold Shapes_!
Gruesome sound! It makes one think of the Morgue!"

A shudder passed through the room, followed by a diffident laugh.
Teresa Mallison and a few of the younger women giggled, the elders
forbore on principle to smile at such an allusion, and the Vicar's wife
entered on a forbearing explanation.

"They are human creatures like ourselves, Mrs Beverley, and the fire is
so trying! I encourage my cook to go out, as a matter of health. You
are not limited to shapes, of course. There are so many nice cold
sweets."

Grizel shook her head. "Grace has not been given to me to eat cold
sweets. Not on _those_ nights! I should have a carnal craving for
omelettes. We must keep two cooks!" Her little nod waved aside the
subject as settled and done with, and the matrons of Chumley exchanged
stealthy glances of condemnation. Mrs Ritchards, however, warmed to
the attack.

"Why not a kitchen-maid, who could make herself useful upstairs in the
morning? There is a young girl in my daughter's Sunday School Class who
might suit you. Very respectable, but short. Of course, if she were
expected to wait when the housemaid is out, that might be an objec