ou have
another."

"But," said my father, "she has been here so long; she was my mother's
housekeeper long before I was born. It does not seem right to send away
an old servant."

"You need not send her away, I said before; you might pension her off."

"I will speak to Lady Tayne about it. She has very peculiar ideas on
that point. I must see what she thinks about it."

"Of course," said Miss Reinhart, "you will do as you think best, Sir
Roland--and your way is, I am sure, always the best--but I should have
thought, considering the very nervous state that Lady Tayne always lies
in, that it would have been far better not to let her know about it
until it is all over."

My father thought for a few moments, and then he said:

"No, I should not like to do that; it would seem like taking an unfair
advantage of her helplessness."

Miss Reinhart blushed deeply.

"Oh, Sir Roland!" she cried, "you could not suppose that I thought of
such a thing! I assure you I am quite incapable of it. I thought only of
dear Lady Tayne."

And she seemed so distressed, so concerned and anxious that my father
hardly knew how to reassure her. She explained and protested until at
last, and with something of impatience, he said:

"I will speak to Lady Tayne about it this morning." I knew he felt in
want of some kind of moral support when he took my hand and said, in
would-be careless words: "Come with me, Laura, to see mamma."

And we went, hand-in-hand, to my mother's room. There, after the usual
loving greetings had been exchanged, my father broached the subject
which evidently perplexed and sadly worried him. Broached it ever so
gently, but I, who knew every look and trick of my mother's face, saw
how deeply pained she was. She never attempted to interrupt him, but
when he had finished speaking--having passed over very lightly indeed
the little domestic matters which had gone wrong since my mother's
illness, dwelling principally upon the benefit that would most probably
accrue if a younger housekeeper were engaged--my mother declined to do
anything of the kind.

"My dear Roland," she said, "it would literally break my heart; think
what a faithful old servant she has been."

"That is just it," said my father; "she is too old--too old, Miss
Reinhart thinks, to do her work well."

There is a moment's silence.

"Miss Reinhart thinks so," said my mother, in those clear, gentle tones
I knew so well; "but then, Roland, what can Miss