"That," she said, "is the very best way to judge of a cook's economical powers. See how much she saves of the dishes that come from the upstairs table. Now, last night I happened to notice that the chicken salad went downstairs almost untouched." For the first time in years, Burton found himself coloring. "Oh, really?" he stammered. "I had an idea that we had eaten quite a lot of it." "No," returned Mrs. Falkener firmly, "no, a good dish went down. Let us go and see." Crane glanced at Jane-Ellen. He thought she had overheard. They reached the ice-box; the cook lifted the lid, and Mrs. Falkener looked in. The first sight that greeted her eyes was the platter that had borne the salad she had liked so much. It was almost empty. "Why, Jane-Ellen," she said, "where is all the rest of that excellent salad?" At this question, Jane-Ellen, who was standing beside the chest, gave the lid a slight downward impulsion, so that it suddenly closed with a loud, heavy report, within half an inch of Mrs. Falkener's nose. That lady turned to Burton. "Burton," she said, with the majesty of which she was at times capable, "I leave it to you to decide whether or not this impossible young woman did that on purpose," and so saying she swept away up the stairs, like a goddess reascending Olympus. "Look here, Jane-Ellen," said Crane, "I don't stand for that." "Oh, sir," replied the culprit, with a return to an earlier manner, "you surely don't think I had anything to do with it?" "Unhappily, I was watching your hand at the time, and I know that you had." Jane-Ellen completely changed her method. "Oh, well," she said, "you did not want her going on any more about the old salad, did you?" "I don't want the end of my guest's nose taken off." "It's rather a long nose," said the cook dispassionately. "Jane-Ellen, I am seriously displeased." At this the cook had a new idea. She extracted a very small handkerchief from her pocket and unfolded it as she said: "Yes, indeed, sir, I suppose I did utterly forget my place, but it's rather hard on a poor girl--one day you treat her as if she were an empress, and the next, just as if she were mud under your feet." She pressed the handkerchief to her eyes. "Jane-Ellen, you know I never treated you like mud under my feet." "It was only last night in my brother's room," she went on tearfully, "that you scolded me for not being candid, and now at the very first candid thing I do, you turn on me like a lion--" At this point Crane removed her hands and handkerchief from before her face, and revealed the fact, which he already suspected, that she was smiling all the time. "Jane-Ellen, what a dreadful fraud you are!" he said quite seriously. "No, Mr. Crane," answered Jane-Ellen, briskly tucking away her handkerchief, now that its usefulness was over. "No, I'm not exactly a fraud. It's just that that's my way of enjoying myself, and you know, sometimes I think other people enjoy it, too."