y, but ludicrously, for a diagonal smile is apt to have a comic
effect. "Here!--take off your gloves," she continued, "and let me see
you do one of these loose-worked sunflowers. They are the fashion now,
though. I dare say, you will not be able to see the beauty of them."

"Please, ma'am," returned Mary, "if you will excuse me, I would rather
go to my room. I have had a long journey, and am very tired."

"There is no room yours.--I have had no character with you.--Nothing
can be done til Mrs. Redman comes home, and she and I have had a little
talk about you. But you can go to the housemaid's--the second
housemaid's room, I mean--and make yourself tidy. There is a spare bed
in it, I believe, which you can have for the night; only mind you don't
keep the girl awake talking to her, or she will be late in the morning,
and that I never put up with. I think you will do. You seem willing to
learn, and that is half the battle."

Therewith Mrs. Perkin, believing she had laid in awe the foundation of
a rightful authority over the young person, gave her a nod of
dismissal, which she intended to be friendly.

"Please, ma'am," said Mary, "could I have one of my boxes taken up
stairs?"

"Certainly not. I can not have two movings of them; I must take care of
my men. And your boxes, I understand, are heavy, quite absurdly so. It
would _look_ better in a young person not to have so much to carry
about with her."

"I have but two boxes, ma'am," said Mary.

"Full of _books_, I am told."

"One of them only."

"You must do your best without them to-night. When I have made up my
mind what is to be done with you, I shall let you have the one with
your clothes; the other shall be put away in the box-room. I give my
people what books I think fit. For light reading, the 'Fireside Herald'
is quite enough for the room.--There--good night!"

Mary courtesied, and left her. At the door she glanced this way and
that to find some indication to guide her steps. A door was open at the
end of a passage, and from the odor that met her, it seemed likely to
be that of the kitchen. She approached, and peeped in.

"Who is that?" cried a voice irate.

It was the voice of the second cook, who was there supreme except when
the _chef_ was present. Mary stepped in, and the woman advanced to meet
her.

"May I ask to what I am indebted for the honner of this unexpected
visit?" said the second cook, whose head its overcharge of
self-importance jerked