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elderly, and severely Church of England; his knowledge of widows was
confined to the type ably represented by his mistress and he regarded
young Mrs. Loring as inclined to be "flighty." The footman, who was
entirely under the butler's thumb in mundane matters, had fallen into
the habit of sharing his opinions, and while agreeing in the general
feeling of flightiness, declared boldly that the lady in question gave
a certain "style" to the dinner-table that it had lacked before her
advent.

For a helpless victim, however, a slave bound in fetters of steel, one
would have to know Cummins, the under housemaid, who lighted Mrs.
Loring's fire night and morning. She was young, shy, country bred, and
new to service. When Mrs. Benson sent her to the guest's room at eight
o'clock on the morning after her arrival she stopped outside the door
in a panic of fear.

"Come in!" called a cheerful voice. "Come in!"

Cummins entered, bearing her box with brush and cloth and kindlings.
To her further embarrassment Mrs. Loring was sitting up in bed with an
ermine coat on, over which her bright hair fell in picturesque
disorder. She had brought the coat for theatre and opera, but as these
attractions were lacking at Stoke Revel and as life there was, to her,
one prolonged Polar expedition, with dashes farthest north morning and
evening, she had diverted it to practical uses.

"Make me a quick fire please, a big fire, a hot fire," she begged, "or
I shall be late for breakfast; I never can step into that tin tub till
the ice is melted."

"There's no ice in it, ma'am," expostulated Cummins gently, with the
voice of a wood dove.

"You can't see it because you're English," said the strange lady, "but
I can see it and feel it. Oh, you make _such_ a good fire! What is
your name, please?"

"Cummins, ma'am."

"There's another Cummins downstairs, but she is tall and large. You
shall be 'Little Cummins.'"

Now every morning the shy maid palpitated outside the bedroom door,
having given her modest knock; palpitated for fear it should be all a
dream. But no, it was not! there would be a clear-voiced "Come in!"
and then, as she entered; "Good morning, Little Cummins. I've been
longing for you since daybreak!" A trifle later on it was, "Good
Little Cummins bearing coals of comfort! Kind Little Cummins," and
other strange and wonderful terms of praise, until Little Cummins felt
herself consumed by a passion to which Mrs. de Tracy's coals beca