Mrs. Staines said that; but when it came to acting, she deferred to her husband's wish; she resigned her intention of sending for Clara and giving her warning. On the contrary, when Clara let her in, and the white jackets rubbed together in the narrow passage, she actually said nothing, but stalked to her own room, and tore her jacket off, and flung it on the floor. Unfortunately, she was so long dressing for the Zoo, that Clara came in to arrange the room. She picks up the white jacket, takes it in both hands, gives it a flap, and proceeds to hang it up in the wardrobe. Then the great feminine heart burst its bounds. “You can leave that alone. I shall not wear that again.” Thereupon ensued an uneven encounter, Clara being one of those of whom the Scripture says, “The poison of asps is under their tongues.” “La, ma'am,” said she, “why, 'tain't so very dirty.” “No; but it is too common.” “Oh, because I've got one like it. Ay. Missises can't abide a good-looking servant, nor to see 'em dressed becoming.” “Mistresses do not like servants to forget their place, nor wear what does not become their situation.” “My situation! Why, I can pay my way, go where I will. I don't tremble at the tradesmen's knock, as some do.” “Leave the room! Leave it this moment.” “Leave the room, yes--and I'll leave the house too, and tell all the neighbors what I know about it.” She flounced out and slammed the door; and Rosa sat down, trembling. Clara rushed to the kitchen, and there told the cook and Andrew Pearman how she had given it to the mistress, and every word she had said to her, with a good many more she had not. The cook laughed and encouraged her. But Andrew Pearman was wroth, and said, “You to affront our mistress like that! Why, if I had heard you, I'd have twisted your neck for ye.” “It would take a better man than you to do that. You mind your own business. Stick to your one-horse chay.” “Well, I'm not above my place, for that matter. But you gals must always be aping your betters.” “I have got a proper pride, that is all, and you haven't. You ought to be ashamed of yourself to do two men's work; drive a brougham and wait on a horse, and then come in and wait at table, You are a tea-kettle groom, that is what you are. Why, my brother was coachman to Lord Fitz-James, and gave his lordship notice the first time he had to drive the children. Says he, 'I don't object to the children, my lord, but with her ladyship in the carriage.' It's such servants as you as spoil places. No servant as knows what's due to a servant ought to know you. They'd scorn your 'quaintance, as I do, Mr. Pearman.” “You are a stuck-up hussy, and a soldier's jade,” roared Andrew. “And you are a low tea-kettle groom.” This expression wounded the great equestrian soul to the quick; the rest of Sunday he pondered on it; the next morning he drove the doctor, as usual, but with a heavy heart.