"Do," said Aubrey. He forgot to tell me about it, so the next morning while he was shaving, a knock came, and in walked Mary. I was in a kimono, writing notes and waiting for breakfast to be sent up. Hearing voices, Aubrey came to the door with one-half of his face covered with lather, and said: "Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you. Are you the cook sent by Mr. Zanzibar?" "Yes, sir," said Mary. Aubrey retired to the bathroom again, communicating with me in pantomime. I looked at Mary, and loved her. We eyed each other in silence for a moment. "Won't you sit down?" I said, looking at her white hair. "Thank you, but I'll stand." That settled it. I didn't care if she stole the shoes off my feet if she knew her place as well as that. Her face beamed; her skin was fresh and rosy. Her blue eyes twinkled through her spectacles. "Would you," I said, "would you like to take entire charge of two orphans?" She burst into a fit of laughter. "Is it you and your husband, you mean?" "It is. I wish you would come and keep house for us." "I'd like to, Missis. I would, indeed." Again I looked at her and loved her harder. "Have you any references?" I asked. "None except the recommendations of the people who have been coming to the house for twenty years. The family are all scattered." "I have none either," I said. "Shall we take each other on trust?" "If you are willing," she laughed. And so we selected each other, and I am just as much flattered as she could possibly be, for neither one so far has given the other notice. This sketch can only serve to introduce her, as it would take a book to do her justice. She has snow-white hair and a face in which decision and kindness are mingled. She has a tongue which drops blessings and denunciations with equal facility. Born of Irish parents, she belongs to the gentry, yet no fighting Irishman could match her temper when roused, and the Billingsgate which passes through the dumb-waiter between our Mary and the tradespeople is enough to turn the colour of the walls. Yet though I have seen her pull a recreant grocery boy in by his hair, literally by his hair, tradesmen, one and all, adore her, and do errands for her which ought to earn their discharge, and they bring her the pick of the market to avoid having anything less choice thrown in their faces when they come for the next order. She made the ice-man grind coffee for her for a week because he once forgot to come up and put the ice into the refrigerator.