er own phrase, that "nervousness and
she were strangers!" That Irishman had worked a miracle; he'd put
Million at ease in his presence! I came right in and stood looking as
indescribably meek as I knew how.

My employer looked up at me with an odd expression on her small face.

For the first time there was in it a dash of
"I-don't-care-what-you-think-I-shall-do-what-I-like!" And for the first
time she addressed me without any hesitation by the name that I,
Beatrice Lovelace, have taken as my _nom de guerre_.

"Oh, Smith," said Million--Miss Million, "I sent for you because I want
you to pour out the tea for us. Pourin' out is a thing I always did
'ate--hate."

"Yes, Miss," I said.

And I turned to obey orders at the tea-table.

As meekly as if I'd been put into the world for that purpose alone, I
began to pour out tea for Miss Million and her guests.

The tea-table was set in the alcove of the big window, so that I had to
turn my back upon the trio. But I could feel eyes upon my back. Well! I
didn't mind. It was a gracefully fitted back at last, in that perfectly
cut, thin black gown, with white muslin apron-strings tied in an
impertinent little bow.

There was a silence in the room where the hostess had been laughing and
the principal guest--I suppose she looked upon this Mr. Burke as the
principal guest--had been purring away to her in that soft Irish voice
of his.

I filled the cups and turned--to meet the honest sunburnt face of the
other visitor, Mr. Reginald Brace. He'd got up and taken a quick step
towards me. I never saw anything quite so blankly bewildered as his
expression as he tried hard not to stare at that little white muslin
butterfly cap in my hair.

Of course! This was his first intimation that I, who had been Million's
mistress, was now Miss Million's maid!

In a dazed voice he spoke to me: "Can't I----Do let me help you----"

"Oh, thank you," I said quietly and businesslikely. "Will you take this
to Miss Million, please?"

He handed the cups to the others, and I followed and handed the cream,
milk, and sugar. It felt like acting in a scene out of some musical
comedy, at the Gaiety, say. And I daresay it looked like it, what with
the pretty, flower-filled sitting-room, and Million's French white
muslin with the grey-blue sash, and my stage-soubrette livery, and the
glossily groomed Mr. Burke as the young hero! I surprised a very
summing-up glance from those black-lashed blue eyes of