After a phase of despair, followed by resignation, the lady said, speaking in the effect of the latter: "I think, Reginald, if you had any regard for the bills, you would just look out of the window, once in an hour or so, and not consume all those cubic feet of gas at three-and-ninepence. The fog's gone! There's the sun. I knew it would be, and it was perfectly ridiculous to put off going to the Old Water Colour." "Suppose we go, then? Hay, Mrs. Hay? Get your hat, and we'll go." He turned the gas out. "Oh no! It's no use going now--it's too late. And it's all so depressing. And you know it is! And I shall have to get rid of this new girl, Sairah." "I thought she looked honest." This was spoken feebly. She answered irritably: "You always think they look honest when they're ugly. This one's no better than they all are. It's not the honesty, though. It's she won't do anything." "Why didn't you have that rather pleasin'-looking gyairl with a bird's wing on her hat?" "That conscious minx! I really do sometimes quite wonder at you, Reginald! Besides, she wanted a parlourmaid's place, and wouldn't go where there wasn't a manservant kept. You men are such fools! And you don't give any help." Mr. Aiken, observing a disposition to weep in these last words, seemed embarrassed for a moment; but after reflection became conciliatory. "Sairah does seem lazy. But she says she's not been accustomed." "And then you give way! You might put that magnifying-glass down just for one moment, and pay attention! Of course, she says she's not been accustomed to anything and everything. They all do! But what can one expect when their master blacks his own boots?" "What can _I_ do, when she says she hopes she knows her place, and she ain't a general, where a boy comes in to do the rough work?" "What can you _do_? Why, of course _not_ carry your dirty boots down into the kitchen and black them yourself, and have her say, when you ask for the blacking, do you know where it's kept? I've no patience! But some men will put up with anything, except their wives; and then one's head's snapped off! '_Do you know where it's kept!_' The idea! ... Well, are you coming, or are you not? Because, _if_ you're coming, I must put on my grey tweed. If you're _not_ coming, say so!"