menu_book Chapter 6

1. The train ran into the great London terminus as if it meant to leap the end platform and make a dash for liberty through the waiting rooms out into the world beyond. But it pulled up just in time and with a jerk as if it had suddenly changed its mind. The huge engine, still panting and snorting with excitement, stood breasting the buffers

the winner of a great race, a race against time. And elderly affluent fidgety gentlemen of a punctual habit returning their watches to their pockets congratulated themselves and each other on a splendid run from close Minster. Standing on the platform awaiting the arrival of the train was a man answering to this description in every respect save one.

A man of forty he looked elderly though not old. His whole appearance proclaimed him affluent and the time of his arrival with a few minutes to spare vouched for a punctual habit but he was not fidgety. Decided and eminently discreet are the words which best describe him. On entering the station he had placed himself so that anyone arriving by the expected train

must pass him on the way out. Standing where he did there was no possibility of missing the person he had come to meet if he knew that person by sight. And having taken up this position he stood with his hands resting on the handle of his neat umbrella glancing about him indifferently.

Not a flicker of expression disturbed his face. The most intelligent observer burst in the subtle signs by which the inner man is apt involuntarily to make evident the workings of his mind and betray his feelings would have been at fault. There was no clue to be seized upon for a guide to this man's thoughts.

His long thin nose twitched frequently an indication as it seemed of some physical discomfort like the switching of a cow's tail when the flies are troublesome on a hot day. That he was waiting was evident but that was all. He waited impassively as a middle-aged family butler waits between the courses when the guests have been served.

You only discover that he has been watching you when he brings you something which he must have seen that you lacked. A family butler might have looked like this gentleman but this gentleman did not look like a family butler. He was a serving man but not of the servant class, a moneymaker but paid in fees not in

wages. This gentleman did not take orders. He was instructed. He was one to be approached with flattering deference to his knowledge and opinion and if he were subservient it would only be in the way of business.

In domestic matters he was one to rule but by tact and subtlety all vulgar emphasis he carefully eschewed. His tall hat neither in nor out of the fashion, his well-cut black morning coat and dark grey trousers, his neat boots, his neutral tinted tie pinned with the most modest of jewels, a pearl which had the inestimable charm of great price without the drawback of display,

his chevret gloves, his neat umbrella. All his appointments proclaimed him a man of substance well laid out and his confident bearing furthermore proclaimed him a man of assured position in his own walk of life. A professional man without doubt, doctor or lawyer. As a matter of fact he was a lawyer, Mr. Aloysius Blember Bosque by name, ruling partner in

the old and eminent firm of Bosque, Blember and Screen. Length without breath summarizes the salient effect of Mr. Bosque's appearance. His feet were long and narrow, his legs and body long and thin, so also was his clean shaven face and his long thin nose shadowed a long thin-lipped mouth. His head and hair were the surprise of his appearance.

Figuratively speaking his head was certainly long but outwardly the breadth of it betokened an ample case for a well-balanced brain. To be in harmony with his general appearance his hair should have been long, thin, lanky and neutral tinted but it was short, thick, crisp and a bright black sparsely sprinkled with gray.

Strength showed in his hair and power in the shape of his head. There could be nothing neurotic in such a man with such hair. Texture, color and abundance vouched for his health and vigor. It was decorative too, an afterthought of nature's or a careless experiment in a mixture of styles.

Setting well round his forehead it enriched with its wavy luxuriance his otherwise attenuated appearance and in the brightness of his deep set keen gray-green eyes also vitality shone but discreetly veiled by the shadow of his thick black overhanging eyebrows. His mother who was ruling partner in the firm of Mr. and Mrs. Bosque had him christened Aloysius Blember.

Aloysius for his patron saint, she being a good Catholic. Blember partly because it was her maiden name, partly because of the letter B. She admired the fine alliterative effect of Blember Bosque. Also and lastly because ABB stood for what he was in her opinion from the moment of his birth till the day of her death.

A beautiful boy. Children's have no conscience in the christening of their children, their own pleasure of the moment being their one consideration. Many are burdened for life with names they detest and handicapped besides like the brothers Philip Ignatius and David Oliver Goodman, PIG and DOG.

At school because of his argumentativeness Mr. Bosque's initials gained him the title of a blithering beast or a beastly boar. But these aspersions fell from him in afterlife as inappropriate. Among his professional brethren he was known as affable or adaptable Bosque. The terms are interchangeable.

Adaptation to the burying humours of mankind connotes affability and professional acuteness was not at fault. Affability was the secret of Mr. Bosque's success. Mr. Bosque stooped slightly from the shoulders as he stood, a habit he had acquired by bending forward to listen to confidential communications.

But he could be upright enough when uprightness was the better attitude for his purpose. And as the train came thundering in he straightened himself and his keen grey-green eyes quickened to attention. In an instant all was confusion, steam roaring, voices shouting, passengers pouring from the carriage as swirled by, jostling him, porters carrying packages or pushing trucks piled

high with luggage made for him direct, shouting, buy your leaves please. But he stood his ground, a human rock in that eddying human current until the train had apparently emptied itself and of the crowd. Only some few individuals collected about the luggage van remained. It seemed that the object of his vigil had not arrived but to make sure he screwed up

his eyes in an effort to focus them and looked along the train and as he did so he saw at the end farthest from him a young woman alight from a third-class carriage. But she did not look like a third-class passenger. Her dress was simple enough, a blue serge coat and skirt and all else black. But it was not cheap simplicity.

It was the dress of a lady worn with distinction. A porter hurrying up asked if she had any luggage. I am to be met, she said revealing herself in five words as sweet-voiced, gentle and courteous. She looked about her composedly but with large-eyed interest.

This was her first experience of a London terminus. The waiting porter looked at her and as he looked his spirits rose. He felt jolly, like dancing a jig. The legal gentleman did not know her by sight and the only guide he had to her appearance was a remark let fall by the client for whom he was acting.

Something unusual about her, don't you know? Sort of girl you don't see every day. As a compact indication, however, it covered the ground for the businessman with a completeness which no amount of detail could have accomplished. The girl who got out of the third-class carriage was certainly not the sort of girl you see

every day. Distinguished looking Mr. Bosque labeled her from a distance. As he approached near enough to see her distinctly, this first impression was more than confirmed. She is very beautiful, he thought, and wondered at the restraint of his client's indication. The porter saw him approaching.

That'll be the gent as it's coming to meet you, perhaps, miss, he said. He expected a gent to meet this exhilarating young lady. Her father, he supposed, and felt relieved. Even a railway porter likes to know that the lists are still open. Beauty involuntarily exacts homage.

Which it is a pleasure to pay. Mr. Bosque did homage with his hat and gravely. The effect of exceeding beauty is solemnizing. It appeals to the highest and the better nature of a man as something sacred. He does not greet it as he does mere prettiness with the lip service of a smile.

Mr. Bosque addressed this girl with bent body and uncovered head. Extreme deference came naturally at the moment and he was not aware that it was extreme. He became aware of it afterwards, however, when analyzing his impressions of the meeting. The girl had no rank. She was a lacemaker of humble extraction.

Yet, he had honored her as he would have honored a crowned head. And with good reason, since she wore the crown honored of all men universally, the crown of beauty jeweled with good repute. On reflection, Mr. Bosque was content with himself. It is good to be a lawyer of ability, but it is better to be a man with all that being

a man imports. Miss Ella Banks, I believe he said, I am Mr. Bosque, representative of the Duchess of Castle Fields say, I prefer to meet you myself. Thank you, Ella answered. But she did not understand the distinction conferred by this personal attention on the

part of the ruling member of the old and eminent firm of Bosque, Blember and Screen. And this was obvious to Mr. Bosque, who noted the fact with a twitch of his sensitive nose. Luggage, sir, the porter put in touching his cap. Yes, see to it, Mr. Bosque replied. How many?

A lady, one box, buff, compressed cane, initials E.B. Ella answered categorically, making the prosaic details musical by the timber of her voice. Her even unhasting utterance, gentle, but decided, giving to each word full weight produced on Mr. Bosque, an impression of sureness, sincerity and strength. Smiling, he observed a practical young lady.

I am a working woman, she replied. Perhaps you do not know, I do know, he caught her up. If you will follow me, he led the way. We legal men have to know. If I may say it without irreverence, from us, no secrets are hid.

There are no secrets in my case. It is simple enough, Ella answered. The lawyer compressed his lips. I am to have the pleasure of seeing you comfortably settled, he said. You are very kind, she thanked him quietly.

Her whole demeanor was the demeanor of a well-bred woman, graceful, simple, composed. As she walked beside him, Mr. Bosque discreetly observed her with his air of noticing nothing. Although she was not the sort of girl you see every day. A close carriage and pair was waiting in the courtyard of the station. The servants were quietly livered in black.

The whole turnout was conspicuously quiet. It would have looked to the experienced eye of one who knows what it costs to be sumptuously inconspicuous. The carriage groom who stood by the door opened it and touched his hat as they approached. Ella stepped in.

Mr. Bosque, having discreetly tipped the porter, followed her. He noted Ella's composure. It was as if she had expected to be met by a man of means and position with a perfectly appointed carriage and pair. Would a clerk and a cab have surprised her, he wondered.

Yet he understood now what, before he saw her, he had considered the extravagant lavishness of the arrangements his client had insisted upon. He would have done as much himself. I began to thank that you had not come here, he remarked, as they drove off. I did not know that I had arrived, she explained.

I sat still when the train stopped until I saw that everybody else was getting out. Your first visit to London? My first visit to London. Your impressions will be interesting if they do not suffer from overcrowding and obliterate each other.

Ah, neat, he said. The neatness gave him an opening. Adaptable, Bosque. I always congratulate people who have left themselves something to learn as they grow older, he observed.

The experiences of youth find us fresh, but they do not find us appreciative. But there must always be something to learn, she thought. I am speaking of what learning teaches us, he explained, of what we learn from new experiences, personal experiences. I was so fortunate myself as not to have made the acquaintance of certain well-known books

until I grew up. Novels, for instance. I only lately read George Eliot for the first time. That was a great experience. Had I made the acquaintance of her wonderful mind earlier, I must have failed to appreciate

her genius. I should not have known enough myself to gauge the extent of her powers by comparison. I think I see what you mean, Ella answered with interest. You tested her knowledge of the world by your own, precisely, and added to my own. Then an impression is a story without a moral.

An experience teaches us something, Ella suggested. I shall have impressions enough. Stories minus morals, I suppose, she sighed. I come to London without knowledge of the world. If you are ever at a loss, my knowledge is at your service, he assured her.

You are kind, she said and smiled upon him. He had a dry way of speaking, a way of compressing his thin lips and of looking at you out of his gray-green eyes that made you feel yourself nothing to him but a matter of business. His clients relied on his business capacity. They rarely appealed to his feelings.

As a rule, they did not realize that he had any. They were mostly people great in the matter of social position who knew him only as a capable lawyer. As a human being who might have home ties and family affection, he did not exist for the nobility and gentry.

He was only a part of the machinery of the law to them, not a human being at all. But long intercourse with these people had not dulled his senses or sapped his manhood. Responding to their expectation, he had grown in working hours to be more of a machine than of a man. Yet, for all that, he remained man enough to be capable of answering to other kinds

of expectation. This inexperienced girl had taken him at his word and it pleased him because she pleased him as she had pleased the porter at the railway station. In this respect, there was no difference between the great London lawyer and the railway porter. In her exhilarating presence, the porter felt that he could dance a jig.

The lawyer discovered that he wanted to be kind to her. The kindnesses of men to women are nicely regulated by the pleasure received. Mr. Bosque had not intended to be kinder than self-interest made advisable. He had used the formula in the conventional sense only. But under the influence of Ella's smile, he became aware of a strange, pleasant sensation.

And when she said, you are kind, he felt the intention genuine and his whole being expanded in the desire to serve her disinterestedly. If he had been a dog, he would have wagged his tail, although he would not have been the kind of dog that is given to wagging its tail. Nose twitching and eyes blinking, he sat looking out of the window at nothing, but his inward

eye was open. He was intent upon his companion, not criticizing, well pleased, his judgment held in suspense. They were in a crowded thoroughfare, a main artery of traffic, fashionable and commercial, smart carriages, omnibuses, tradesmen's carts, heavy drays, some fast, some slow, some stationary, some causing eddies to swirl in the traffic by pulling up suddenly, surrounded

them. And on the pavements and in and out among the close packed vehicles, foot passengers crowded, jostling each other, hurrying, loitering, stopping, darting across the road in orderly confusion, playing the game, the game of life, in which each individual has a separate and independent part, yet is at the same time, in combination with every other individual

engaged in the game, each and all playing both for themselves and for each other according to rule. A great band towering high above the carriage came lumbering down upon it as if determined to annihilate it. For a breathless instant, the wheels grazed each other.

Mr. Bosque glanced at Ella out of the corner of his eye. She did not flinch. How do you feel in this crowd? He asked. It strikes me that there is no confusion, she answered.

That was a near shave, he remarked. Yes, she agreed, and not the sort of death I should have chosen. Our remains would have been picked up and cleared away, and all would have gone on again in a few minutes as if nothing had happened, I suppose. Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by?

Amoral, Mr. Bosque exclaimed. And experienced then, not mere impression, she rejoined. Their impressions are for the shallow, he said, with another sidelong glance at her. She inclined her head slightly, but whether she perceived the compliment implied or was merely politely acknowledging the remark he could not tell.

They had turned up a side street out of the roar of the traffic, a street of handsome family mansions of irregular build, suggestive of individual taste and the means to indulge it in their owners. The resulting effect was picturesque. Looking up the street, it appeared to be a cul-de-sac, but at the top it branched off

sharply to the right. The corner house, at the projecting angle, looked both ways. Architecturally, it was the plainest, and on that account the least arresting to the eye. But in point of size, it was one of the best in the street.

It was at the door of the corner house that the carriage stopped. The carriage groom ran up the steps and rang. The door was opened immediately by an elderly bearded man in a dark uniform with several metal ribbons on his breast. Mr. Boska lighted and offered his hand to Ella.

Here we are, he said. Ella saw wrought iron railings, broad stone steps, a deep portico and massive pillars, the typical entrance to a handsome family mansion. This is not a shop, she said. No, he answered in his dry way.

The shops are not allowed in this street. This required explanation, for she had come to open a shop, but she asked no questions, made no remark. The elderly bearded man stood to attention and touched his uniform cap. You're a commissioner, Mr. Boska explained, beverage.

He has the privilege of wearing a beard as well as a mustache because he was a pioneer. Ella held out her hand. Beverage was surprised and responded awkwardly with his eyes gravely intent on the smile she gave him. Mr. Boska also noted that smile as likely to be captivating.

Not being for him, it did not penetrate the armor of his profession which he was wearing on his heart at the moment, but it won the old soldier's loyal allegiance heart and soul. I am a pioneer too, she said. Indeed, my lady, beverage responded. And ever afterwards he stuck to my lady or my young lady, the lady of his humble devotion.

What Mr. Boska thought of this episode no one could have guessed. He closed it abruptly. We will inspect the house with your permission, he said. The entrance hall is good. Ella obediently began to inspect.

It was in fact a fine entrance hall, paved with black and white marble and paneled. A broad staircase on the left led up to a gallery which ran round three sides of it. It was last inhabited by Lady Alicia Brabant, a sister of the present Duke, Mr. Boska proceeded, and is just as she left it when she died. Chinese ebony, you see, topped with colored marble and handsomely carved.

Somber certainly, but admirable both in taste and tone. Ella nodded but made no other sign. At the end of the hall, opposite the entrance, there were high double doors. Ella looked at these curious to know what was beyond. Mr. Boska signed to beverage.

Beverage flung wide the doors and Ella's eyes opened wide also momentarily. She entered in advance of Mr. Boska. The ballroom, he said. My client thought it would answer your purpose. 18th century, van leus and vouchers inset in the gilded panels.

The ceiling, often mistaken for grindling gibbons by people who are shaky in their dates, is Adam at his best. Consoles, chairs, settees, Louis cans or is it Louis says? Mr. Boska smiled at his own shakiness. Notice the fine silk tapestry in the seats and these splendid hanging lusters with cut

glass pendants. Also the sconces on the walls, the branching candelabra. The whole room in fact is in perfect 18th century taste and that to my mind in grace and beauty cannot be surpassed. Ella walked away from him.

She looked up at the ceiling. She looked at lusters, sconces, pilasters and panels, at gilt consoles and graceful settees and nodded a silent comment on each. Shallow steps led up to a dais at the end of the room. Ella was a musician's gallery supported by marble pillars.

She mounted the steps and stood between the pillars. She knew nothing of 18th century art but the whole effect delighted her and she took the vast apartment to her heart. Mr. Boska stood where she had left him, had an umbrella in hand, watching her with discreetly bailed attention, nose twitching, eyes blinking, his modernity the one discordant note.

Ella returned to him. It is a beautiful room, she said. Where does that door lead to? The door, she indicated, did not challenge attention. It was on the same side of the room as the entrance from the hall.

I will show you, he said, and going forward he opened the door and stood aside for her to pass in. The house has been untouched since Lady Alicia Brabant died, Mr. Boska repeated. Everything is just as she left it. My client thought you might perhaps like to exercise your own taste.

You can alter anything you like. This room, for instance. It was Lady Alicia's morning room. It is old fashioned, of course. Ella thought it charming.

My client decided, subject to your approval, that it would be highly convenient for you. But I do not understand, she interrupted. I expected to be put into a shop. This house, Mr. Boska explained, used to be the dower house of the family, the Brabant family.

The present Duke lent it to his sister, the Lady Alicia, for life, there being no dower duchess to occupy. He has made other arrangements for the present duchess in case he predeceases her. The house is now yours, just as it stands, with everything in it to do as you like with. Or I should say, it will be yours when you have gone through the formality of signing

a document. There is only one condition attached. The house must not be made to look like a shop, or in any way be advertised as a shop. Ella had flushed as he spoke. Now her countenance fell.

She had pictured to herself a shop window full of lace. Then how are people to know about my business, she objected. You may safely leave all that to me, he replied in a tone of finality. That can be arranged, but the first thing to be done, if I may venture to suggest, is to get you settled in and all ready.

Your ideas are to be carried out to the letter. You have only to order. I am further instructed to remind you that I am acting on behalf of the Duchess of Castle Fields, say. Ella was feeling overwhelmed.

She could not speak, only her eyes answered him. But the legal gentleman had to make sure. You understand that it is the Duchess who is doing all this for you, he insisted. I understand, she said. The Duchess is setting me up in business.

The Duchess is munificent. He acknowledged this with a bow on the Duchess's behalf. The rich and great are the natural guardians of art, he said. In former days they were called the patrons of art, but times have changed. Patronage has become an offense, therefore we now say guardians of art.

And it must be remembered that it is one of the pleasures of the rich and great, as well as one of their privileges, to be the guardians of art, a pleasure which any artist may accord them without loss of dignity. Shall we decide about this room? He looked round, eyes blinking, nose twitching.

My client, he pursued, thought you would like to begin by exercising your individual taste on your own special sanctum. If you decide to make this room your own special sanctum, and it has everything to recommend it, you would be on the spot here, so to speak, and also in complete privacy. You see there are three doors.

He went to each and opened it as he spoke, one leading into the ballroom, your showroom, which is to be, one into the hall, and the third into this passage where there is a black staircase leading direct to your sleeping apartment and other parts of the house. Means of escape and plenty without appearing in public. The dining room and library are on this floor, he added.

The drawing rooms are upstairs. Ella who had recovered herself nodded comprehension gravely. Her composure began to annoy Mr. Boss because it was puzzling. Here was a girl fresh from a small farmhouse in the depths of the country who had hitherto had no greater convenience for social intercourse or privacy than the parlor of a humble tenant

farmer with a large family could afford, nodding her understanding of the advantage of having the means of escape from her sitting room like any woman of the world, unimpressed by an allusion to drawing rooms and in fact taking it all together for granted that she should find herself suddenly installed the possessor of a mansion fit for the daughter of a duke. Had she expected it?

No, Mr. Boss was sure she had not. Then whence her composure? Mr. Boss concluded that it was inability to comprehend. This was natural enough in an inexperienced country girl. Mr. Boss's annoyance passed off.

He had already gone through several alternations of mood since he made the acquaintance of Miss Ella Banks and he was destined to go through several more. Ella stood peering about her intently with an expression of inquiry on her face. Curious to know what it meant, Mr. Boss remarked, Something strikes you?

Her answer was surprising. It strikes me, she said and paused, looking about her again wonderingly. It strikes me that I have been here before. Her eyes raised to his invited explanation. Not an unprecedented experience, he replied cautiously.

There is a scientific explanation. One lobe of the brain is said to hang fire as it were and afterwards it repeats a first impression so that it seems a recollection. I'm not clear about it. I must look it up.

But you may have seen photographs or heard the place described. No, she answered and stood a moment, her eyes fixed but unseeing intent on some thought. I shall feel at home here. She said at last, rousing herself. It is all delightful.

It was in the old days, he answered, and can easily be made so again. Of course, this room wants modernizing. Sat in the damask for the walls, I suppose. I will have some patterns sent in. Ladies generally choose a scheme of color to suit their complexion.

But if I may say so, any color would suit your complexion. Ella ignored the compliment. Mr. Bosque noted for future guidance that personalities were distasteful. Sat in damask for the walls, he repeated. Any pictures you like, gilded chairs and sofas, deep-seated with the easiest springs, big

down cushions and an au-bosan carpet. That is the kind of thing for a lady's boudoir. The kind of thing for a bonbon box, Ella observed placidly. Not a gracious speech as it appears to the eye, but as she uttered it with the parting of exquisite lips and an exquisite smile.

It had the effect of provoking a smile. But adaptable Bosque was nonplussed as a man is apt to be who adjusts his attitude towards a modern woman by the light of some ancient generalization. For quite a minute, he was silent. Here was a novelty, a new departure in the way of young womanhood.

Better let her commit herself. I'm here to receive your orders, he said at last. What is your idea? My idea is to have the best conditions for work. Air and light and space, she answered.

Her tone as always gently decided. My room must look healthy and fresh. Everything in it must be cleanable. It must be clean before everything and not made stuffy and enervating with a surplus of cushions and curtains and easy chairs.

Your taste agrees with that of your predecessor, he said, glancing round. There is not much to alter. I do not want to alter, she said. I want to preserve. There is only one thing I should like, a little addition, more accommodation for books.

Ah, the word came out like a cork from an overcharged bottle of soda water. You know what you want, he said with approval. Yes, always, she answered. But I do not always know how to get what I want. In that case, sir, in this case, I rely upon Miss De Bosque, she replied with a glance

that raised him in his own estimation. Ah, good, he exclaimed. Very good indeed. In this case, Mr. Bosque will do his best. Do his best, you know.

He stood for a little smiling, blinking, twitching his nose, looking about him, considering, convincingly doing his best. To look healthy and fresh, he observed meditatively. Yes, I see, and books. Light, air, space, and books, I see.

He dropped from the meditative to the practical voice. What do you say, he asked to, a dado of books at the end of the room. What is a dado, Ella asked. Affable Bosque was thankful to find that there was something she did not know. He explained, and she was pleased to consider the suggestion.

Thus they arrived at an understanding, and as the young lady must require rest and refreshment after her journey, and no more could be done that day, Mr. Bosque prepared to take his leave. Before I go, he said, is there anything you immediately want? Yes, she answered instantly. Clothes, if you please.

Ah, to be sure, he beamed. The little trunk looking forlorn on the top of the carriage recurred to his mind. I ought to have thought of that. Where is the woman who does not want clothes? Well, let me see.

There are plenty of shops where a royal trousseau can be obtained ready-made. Ella's fastidious upper lip indicated her opinion of the ready-made. Adaptable Bosque accused himself of osolocism and hurriedly recanted. But of course you scorned the ready-made. Well, he reflected, I know what to do, he exclaimed.

I cannot advise you myself, but I know a lady of taste, French taste, who can and will. With your permission, I will ask her to call on you at your earliest convenience. Thank you, Ella answered. My earliest convenience will be the lady's earliest convenience tomorrow morning. May I ask who the lady is?

The lady, Mr. Bosque replied impressively, is my mother. The announcement brought the subject to a full stop. Ella did not know what to say. Looking at Mr. Bosque, long, lean, and dry, she pictured a mother for him also long, lean, and dry, and not at all the type of woman to be a criterion of taste and dress.

She did not dare to refuse the offer of her guidance, and she was afraid to accept it. If their tastes clashed, Ella would be bound to hold to her own, and that would probably give offense and make difficulties. One thing, however, was reassuring. Mr. Bosque himself was well dressed.

On this hopeful, though slight indication, she managed to express conventional thanks. Mr. Bosque remembered one thing more. Mrs. Pounce. Mrs. Pounce was waiting in the hall, it appeared. He called her in.

Mrs. Pounce is your housekeeper, he said to Ella by way of introduction. Mrs. Pounce, this is your young lady, Miss Ella Banks. Mrs. Pounce was a most respectable looking elderly woman of medium height, medium figure, medium coloring.

She stood with folded hands and downcast eyes, the personification of servile humility. Mrs. Pounce curtsy, I'm glad to see you, Miss, she said. I hope to give satisfaction. But there was neither gladness nor hope in voice or face. Mrs. Pounce looked as if she had resigned herself in advance to every sort of misfortune.

Only having spoken, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at Mr. Bosque, a fleeting glance, but shrewd. It indicated to Ella that Mrs. Pounce was acting with an eye to Mr. Bosque's opinion. Ella did not feel at all inclined to shake hands with her. Mrs. Pounce was Mr. Bosque's parting injunction.

You will see to the lady's comfort in every respect. Mr. Bosque's departure was signaled by the closing of the hall door. The sound produced a curious change of demeanor in Mrs. Pounce. Her humility vanished. She brisked up and altered the position of a chair as if hers were the right to arrange.

Ella looking at her to see what she had to deal with caught a shrewd side long glance at herself from the small penetrating eyes, eyes that were cunning when they were not cast down in professional humility. The eyes were instantly averted. Ella would naturally have treated her housekeeper with kindly consideration,

but this attitude she perceived would not do. Mrs. Pounce was an epitome of the world itself. The world is not to be conciliated. It must be mastered. Ella found herself forced to fight her first round with the world in the person of Mrs. Pounce.

Mrs. Pounce struck first. I'm busy downstairs, she said in an offhand way, but I'll just show you to your room. My room, Ella answered, slightly raising her eyebrows. I have not yet chosen my room. Mr. Bosque's orders were Mrs. Pounce was beginning to dictate.

First, I must see the house, Ella interrupted quietly but decidedly. Mrs. Pounce changed her tactics. You better have a rest after your journey, and that she advised with ingratiating familiarity. First, I must see the house, Ella repeated without emphasis. I will give you your orders with regard to my room when I have decided which I will have.

Mrs. Pounce had lived in the best families hitherto and taken her orders from ladies of title. She had flattered herself that this young person from the country, what was nothing but a shopkeeper come to sell lace, would be easily managed and had indeed joyfully accepted the situation on this erroneous supposition. She was undeceived.

The young person had come to town prepared to be head of an establishment, and the fact that the establishment proved to be a large one instead of the small one she had expected surprised, but did not disconcert her. She was equal to the responsibility, but it was her method of making her authority felt that undeceived Mrs. Pounce, the manner she knew so well,

unperemptory because expecting instant unquestioning obedience. In Mrs. Pounce's experience, if it were not instant unquestioning obedience, it would be short shrift. She had cringed to that manner for gain all her life, and she cringed now involuntarily. You might put that chair back in its place, please, Ella added.

Mrs. Pounce hastily replaced the chair. Thank you, Ella surveyed the room reflectively. A last look round. Now for the house, she said. You lead the way.

Mrs. Pounce curtsied and led the way. End of section six of the winged victory. Chapter one, the corner house in the side street by Sarah Graham.