countermanded the cream.

Costanza's face fell, for she had a cousin who had a cow, and the
cream was to have come from them both.

"And perhaps we had better not have chickens," said Lady
Caroline.

Costanza's face fell more, for her brother at the restaurant kept
chickens in his back-yard, and many of them were ready for killing.

"Also do not order strawberries till I have consulted with the
other ladies," said Lady Caroline, remembering that it was only the
first of April, and that perhaps people who lived in Hampstead might be
poor; indeed, must be poor, or why live in Hampstead? "It is not I who
am mistress here."

"Is it the old one?" asked Costanza, her face very long.

"No," said Lady Caroline.

"Which of the other two ladies is it?"

"Neither," said Lady Caroline.

Then Costanza's smiles returned, for the young lady was having
fun with her and making jokes. She told her so, in her friendly
Italian way, and was genuinely delighted.

"I never make jokes," said Lady Caroline briefly. "You had
better go, or lunch will certainly not be ready by half-past twelve."

And these curt words came out sounding so sweet that Costanza
felt as if kind compliments were being paid her, and forgot her
disappointment about the cream and the chickens, and went away all
gratitude and smiles.

"This," thought Lady Caroline, "will never do. I haven't come
here to housekeep, and I won't."

She called Costanza back. Costanza came running. The sound of
her name in that voice enchanted her.

"I have ordered the lunch for to-day," said Lady Caroline, with
the serious angel face that was hers when she was annoyed, "and I have
also ordered the dinner, but from now on you will go to one of the
other ladies for orders. I give no more."

The idea that she would go on giving orders was too absurd. She
never gave orders at home. Nobody there dreamed of asking her to do
anything. That such a very tiresome activity should be thrust upon her
here, simply because she happened to be able to talk Italian, was
ridiculous. Let the originals give orders if Mrs. Fisher refused to.
Mrs. Fisher, of course, was the one Nature intended for such a purpose.
She had the very air of a competent housekeeper. Her clothes were the
clothes of a housekeeper, and so was the way she did her hair.

Having delivered herself of her ultimatum with an acerbity that
turned sweet on the way, and accompanied it by a peremptory gesture of
dismis