ve too much care! It is what I live for; give
the household matters no further thought, I beg of you. You might be
setting your bureau drawers in order, if you like, while I am seeing
the butcher; I always look over Amelia's drawers once a week--"

She glided away, leaving Margaret white with anger. How was she to
endure this? She was nearly eighteen; she had taken care of herself ever
since she was seven, and had attained, or so she fancied, perfection, in
the matter of bureau-drawers, at the age of twelve. To have her precious
arrangements looked over, her boxes opened, her--oh, there could be,
there _was_ no reason why she should submit to this! She locked the
drawers quietly, one after the other, and put the key in her pocket. She
would be respectful; she would be civil always, and cordial when she
could, but she would not be imposed upon.

By the time Miss Sophronia came back, Margaret was composed, and greeted
her cousin with a pleasant smile; but this time it was the lady who was
agitated. She came hurrying in, her face red, her air perturbed.
"Insufferable!" she cried, as soon as the door was closed. "Margaret,
that woman is insufferable! She must leave at once."

"Woman! what woman, Cousin Sophronia?" asked Margaret, looking up in
amazement.

"That Frances! She--why, she is impertinent, Margaret. She insulted me;
insulted me grossly. I shall speak to John Montfort directly he returns.
She must go; I cannot stay in the house with her."

Go! Frances, who had been at Fernley twenty years; for whom the new
kitchen, now only fifteen years old, had been planned and arranged!
Margaret was struck dumb for a moment; but recovering herself, she tried
to soothe the angry lady, assuring her that Frances could not have meant
to be disrespectful; that she had a quick temper, but was so good and
faithful, and so attached to Uncle John; and so on. In another moment,
to her great discomfiture, Miss Sophronia burst into tears, declared
that she was alone in the world, that no one loved her or wanted her,
and that she was the most unhappy of women. Filled with remorseful pity,
Margaret bent over her, begging her not to cry. She brought a
smelling-bottle, and Miss Sophronia clutched it, sobbing, and told
Margaret she was an angelic child. "This--this is--a Vanderdecken
vinaigrette!" she said, between her sobs. "Did Eliza Vanderdecken give
you this, too? Very singular of Eliza! But she never had any sense of
fitness. Thank you