t up; and now the prime minister manages the finances, and
gives out stores, and, though I hate to say it, things never went more
smoothly than they do now. Giles is scarcely ever vexed.'

I am ashamed to say how much I was interested in Lady Betty's childish
talk, and yet I knew it was wrong not to check her. What would Miss
Hamilton say if she were to hear of our conversation? Jill was rather
a reckless talker, but she was nothing compared with this daring little
creature. Lady Betty told me afterwards, when we were better acquainted,
that it had amused her so to see how widely I could open my eyes when I
was surprised. I believe she did it out of pure mischief.

Our talk was happily interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Barton and the
tea-tray, which at once turned Lady Betty's thoughts into a new channel.

There was so much to do. First she must help to arrange the table, and,
as no one else could cut such thin bread-and-butter, she must try her
hand at that. Then Nap must have his tea before we touched ours; and when
at last we did sit down she was praising the cake, and jumping up for the
kettle, and waiting upon me 'because I was a dear good thing, and waited
on poor people,' and coaxing me to take this or that as though I were her
guest, and every now and then she paused to say 'how nice and cosy it
was,' and how she was enjoying herself, and how glad she felt to miss
that stupid dinner at Gladwyn, where no one talked but Giles and Etta,
and Gladys sat as though she were half asleep, until she, Lady Betty,
felt inclined to pinch them all.

We were approaching the dangerous subject again, but I warded it off by
asking how she and her sister employed their time.

She made a little face at me, as though the question bothered her. 'Oh,
I do things, and Gladys--does things,' rather lucidly.

'Well, but what things, may I ask?'

'Why do you want to know?' was the unexpected retort. 'I don't question
you, do I? Giles says women are dreadfully curious.'

'I think you are dreadfully mysterious; but, as you are evidently ashamed
of your occupations, I will withdraw my question.'

'I do believe you are cross, Miss Garston: you are not a saint, after
all, though Giles says you sing like a cherub: I don't know where he ever
heard one, but that is his affair. Well, as you choose to get pettish
over it, I will be amiable, and tell you what we do. Etta says we waste
our time dreadfully, but as it is our time and not her