as fed the mental and spiritual
side of us, why not begin life with the determination to make it oil
the wheels of daily existence? Why not bend our energies to avoiding
the pitfalls of the ordinary mortal, and let _us_ lead a perfect life."

"Very well," said the Angel.

"Now in permitting housekeeping to conquer, most people become slaves
to the small ills of life, which I wish to avoid."

"Get to the point," said Aubrey, encouragingly, fearing, I suppose,
that if he did not give the conversation a fillip, I might go on in
that strain for ever, which would be wearing.

"Well, the point is this. I've never known what it was to have good
service in a private house, except abroad. Now even when people bring
excellent servants over from London and Paris, they go all to pieces in
a year. It's in the air of America."

"Well?" said Aubrey.

"Well, of course we have perfect service here in this hotel, and it
seems to me that the nearest approach to that would be in one of those
smart apartment-houses, where everything is done for you outside of
your four walls. Then with Mary, who seems to be a delightful
creature, all we need do is to be careful in the selection of a
janitor. Do you follow me?"

"You have not finished," said Solomon.

"Quite true, oh, wise man of the East! Another of the trials of my
life has always been to get letters mailed."

"To get letters _mailed_?" said Aubrey.

"To get letters mailed," I repeated, firmly. "Every woman knows that
it is no trouble to write them, but the problem of leaving them on the
hall-table for the first person who goes out to mail, the lingering
fear when one doesn't hear promptly that the letter was lost or never
went; the danger of somebody covering them up with papers and sweeping
them off to be burned; the impossibility of running to the box with
each one; the impoliteness of refusing the friend who offers to mail
them permission even to touch them,--oh, Aubrey, really, the chief
worry of my whole life has been to get letters mailed!"

"The most expensive apartment we looked at had a mail-chute," said my
husband, thoughtfully, after a moment of silence.

"Well," I hazarded, timidly, "the only difference between a flat and an
apartment is in the rent."

"That apartment had an ice-box and a sideboard built in, and a mail
chute," repeated Aubrey.

"Yes, it did, as well as the most respectful janitor I ever saw. Did
you notice him?"

"Was he the one wh