“That’s what you want to know, is it?” said he at last. “Yes. Why did you advertise for a ‘mother and daughter,’ unless you had something for the daughter to do?” There was a short pause, during which Mr. Bradfield looked at her, and chuckled quietly, as if she amused him. “Upon my soul, I hardly know. I think I had some sort of a notion that a woman with a daughter would settle down more contentedly, and--and wouldn’t be so likely to--to give way to bad habits.” Here Mr. Bradfield pulled himself up suddenly, recollecting that what he had really feared was an undue predilection for his old port. “You see,” he went on hastily, “I had no idea that I should have the luck to get such a--such a--well, such a magnificent person as your mother to condescend to keep house for me in my humble little home. When I advertised, I had no idea of getting my advertisement answered by a--a----” Chris nodded intelligently. “I see,” said she cheerfully. “What mamma calls a ‘gentlewoman.’” “That’s it exactly. And it means a woman who is not gentle to anybody out of her own ‘set,’ doesn’t it?” Poor Chris wanted to laugh, but was too loyal to her mother to indulge the inclination. But Mr. Bradfield caught the little convulsive sound which intimated that she was amused, and he beamed upon her more benignantly than he had done yet. “I see, then,” she began, in the preternaturally solemn tone of one who has been caught in unseemly hilarity, “that I am here on false pretences, as it were. If I had not been a--a ‘gentlewoman’”--again she suppressed a giggle--“you would have had no scruple about my making myself useful.” Mr. Bradfield, evidently delighted by the view the girl took of things, came a little nearer to the piano. “You _are_ a sensible girl,” he said, with admiration. “Now, if your mother were like you----” he went on regretfully, and stopped. “If she were, you wouldn’t have your house kept so well,” said Chris, merrily. “I’m no use at all in a house, everybody always says. They used to make me play dance music, because there was nothing else I could do.” “Dance music!” echoed Mr. Bradfield hopefully. “I thought you young ladies never condescended to anything beneath a sonata?” Chris laughed. “I don’t, if my mother can help it,” she confessed. “She says a correct taste in music is one of the signs of a gentlewoman, and she makes me study Beethoven and Brahms until I have cultivated a splendid taste for--Sullivan and Lecocq.” “Does she like the sonatas herself?” “She _says_ so; but, then, all ladies with grown-up daughters say that. And she takes me to very dull concerts, of nothing but severely classical music. And she pretends she isn’t bored; but, oh! the relief which appears in her poor, dear face when they drop into a stray little bit of tune!” Mr. Bradfield put his head back and roared with laughter.