Then I sought out Eileen and her grandmother, asked if she felt she could make the fires and wash up, if Mrs. Widow and I did all the rest; as, if so, I should pay her at the same rate that I paid Abigail. You should have seen the look of relief that came over her face when she heard Abigail was not going. “Oh, I could do _everything_,” she said. “I’d so much rather do it and be by myself. I’m very strong; and I’m afraid I might upset Miss Abigail.” “_Miss_ Abigail!” snorted the old grandmother. “Has to earn her living same as the rest of us, I suppose! But I’m much more easy in my mind, ma’am, that Ann is going without her. She’ll look after you well, she will; you’ll want nothing, her’ll see to that” (slipping back into her old-time Devonshire), “but she’s not bin used to stuck-up society.” Thus it came about that instead of the fashionably-attired and efficient Abigail, I eventually went down to my cottage accompanied by a girl who looked precisely like an estimable orphan, just stepped out of some Early Victorian Sunday-school library book; and you felt sure she would come to an equally virtuous end. Nevertheless, I didn’t go the following week, as I had planned. III “You Never Know” Life is full of surprises. Virginia has always maintained that the motto of my house ought to be “YOU NEVER KNOW,” simply because of the rapidity with which I change my mind, and the complications and unexpected developments that follow thereupon. She begged me to have it carved in the wooden beams above the mantelpiece. But as I didn’t, she brought me a Chinese tablet (her brother is a persistent traveller, and I think she had unearthed it from some of his effects), bearing on a red background three imposing-looking Chinese symbols, in gold. I asked her what they meant; though I have never embarked on any language of China, Virginia has studied most things under the sun, and I concluded she knew. She replied that it was the household motto: “You never know”; and she placed it in a conspicuous position above the fireplace in my London dining-room. And when guests asked its meaning, of course I translated it for them, with the air of one who had spoken Mandarin from her cradle; and they looked proportionately impressed. One day, however, an Oriental scholar of unquestionable authority chanced to be dining with us, and he suddenly raised his glasses and studied the tablet with evident interest. “May I ask why you have that above the mantelpiece?” he inquired politely. “Oh, it’s merely the family motto,” I answered airily, “but we have it in Chinese to-night, in your honour.” “Really! You do surprise me!! It seems so curious to be greeted with that in your house!!!” And he looked at me in undisguised amazement. Then I grew anxious, and wondered to myself what it did mean; and since discretion is the better part of a good many things, I thought it would be wisest to explain that I hadn’t the faintest idea what it stood for.