other merely looked. It was sufficient.

"Paul?" suggested my father.

"Thank you," retorted my mother. "I don't choose to have my son turned
into a footman, if you do."

"Well, hadn't you better go and dress?" was my father's next remark.

"It won't take me long to put on an apron," was my mother's reply.

"I was looking forward to seeing you in that new frock," said my father.
In the case of another, one might have attributed such a speech to tact;
in the case of my father, one felt it was a happy accident.

My mother confessed--speaking with a certain indulgence, as one does of
one's own follies when past--that she herself also had looked forward to
seeing herself therein. Threatening discord melted into mutual sympathy.

"I so wanted everything to be all right, for your sake, Luke," said my
mother; "I know you were hoping it would help on the business."

"I was only thinking of you, Maggie, dear," answered my father. "You are
my business."

"I know, dear," said my mother. "It is hard."

The key turned in the lock, and we all stood quiet to listen.

"She's come back alone," said my mother. "I knew it was hopeless."

The door opened.

"Please, ma'am," said the new parlour-maid, "will I do?"

She stood there, framed by the lintel, in the daintiest of aprons, the
daintiest of caps upon her golden hair; and every objection she swept
aside with the wind of her merry wilfulness. No one ever had their way
with her, nor wanted it.

"You shall be footman," she ordered, turning to me--but this time my
mother only laughed. "Wait here till I come down again." Then to my
mother: "Now, ma'am, are you ready?"

It was the first time I had seen my mother, or, indeed, any other flesh
and blood woman, in evening dress, and to tell the truth I was a little
shocked. Nay, more than a little, and showed it, I suppose; for my
mother flushed and drew her shawl over the gleaming whiteness of her
shoulders, pleading coldness. But Barbara cried out against this, saying
it was a sin such beauty should be hid; and my father, filching a shawl
with a quick hand, so dextrously indeed as to suggest some previous
practice in the feat, dropped on one knee--as though the world were some
sweet picture book--and raised my mother's hand with grave reverence to
his lips; and Barbara, standing behind my mother's chair, insisted on
my following suit, saying the Queen was receiving. So I knelt also,
glancing up shyly as towards the gracious f