“No, I didn’t.” Lucy’s tone was rebellious. “I always put down every cent I spend, and besides, I don’t like the girl anyway.” “You’ve never liked her, Lucy,” put in Nannie again. “Now, Lucy, you shouldn’t let personal prejudices make you unjust.” John’s manner was lofty. “If Grace has faults, speak to her about them, but don’t allow a whim to destroy the girl’s livelihood. If Nannie wants the girl to stay, surely it is a little thing to make enough effort to readjust things, instead of putting her in the street.” “John,” Lucy began once more in a suppressed voice, “my comfort and convenience and welfare used to be enough to justify any change I saw fit to make in our home.” “Of course _I_ have changed you into an inconsiderate husband, John,” jeered Nannie. “Oh, nonsense, Lucy,” answered John irritably. “You are always magnifying every suggestion into some terrible injury now-a-days. You should get more sense of humor. There’s no sense or reason for discharging Grace and you shouldn’t act babyish about it.” Lucy controlled herself with an effort. Tears stood in her eyes. “There is a reason, more than one reason, John.” “What?” “Well, she is wasteful, for one thing. She uses a third more groceries than I did.” “Rot! That’s just an excuse. You don’t like the girl because Nannie _does_. She’s going to stay. I’m not going to hunt up a new girl every week!” Lucy gave him a look that startled him with its hostility, and left the room without a word. When she did not appear for dinner Mrs. Merwent went upstairs to call her, but returned alone. “She says she doesn’t want any dinner,” Nannie informed John. “Shall we begin without her?” “Why, of course. If she wants to pout, let her.” “You poor boy!” continued Nannie, straightening his cravat. “It isn’t pleasant for you to come home and find things like this, when you work so hard all day. But you must be patient with Lucy, John. I used to have to be when she was a girl.” Without waiting for him to reply Nannie went into the kitchen. “You can put the dinner on, Grace,” she instructed. “Do I have to go, Mrs. Merwent?” asked Grace in a low tone. “No, Grace, but you must be careful not to offend Mrs. Winter again.” “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Merwent.” “Hurry up, Grace, and serve the soup. Mr. Winter is waiting for his dinner.” “All right, Mrs. Merwent. Go in and sit down. It won’t be a minute.” * * * * * Lucy had begun to grow pale and silent, speaking only when addressed, or when necessary orders were to be given the servant. Late one afternoon she entered the kitchen to inspect preparations for dinner. “You can put this cauliflower in the ice chest when it is done,” she directed, “and we’ll have it for salad with French dressing.” “Mrs. Merwent told me to serve it hot with cream dressing,” answered Grace. “I don’t want to use up the milk for cream dressing,” Lucy informed her sharply. “There won’t be enough for Dimmie.”