“If Alice comes down from Eaton Square this afternoon in anything new,” said his young sister definitely, “I shall simply ignore it. In fact, I shall say, ‘Oh, you havn’t got anything new for the spring then yet?’ That,” said the girl gleefully, “that’ll make her aspirate her aitches.” “We mustn’t forget that she’s our sister.” “She’d like to get it out of her memory. Being parlourmaid in Eaton Square, and about five foot ten from top to toe, don’t entitle anybody to come down ’ere to Page’s Walk and act about as though Bricklayers’ Arms Station belonged to them. After all, she’s only a servant, Erb; there’s no getting away from that. She doesn’t get her evenings to herself like I do. Compared with her, I’m almost independent, mind you. I may ’ave to work ’ard in the day, I don’t deny it, but after seven o’clock at night I’m me own mistress, and I can go out and about jest as I jolly well like. Tip up the dish, and take some more gravy.” “As a matter of fact you come ’ome ’ere, and you work about and get the place ready against me coming ’ome.” “And why shouldn’t I?” demanded his young sister warmly, “if I like to? Can’t I please meself? I’d a jolly sight rather do that than go and wait at table on a lot of over-dressed or under-dressed people, and obliged to keep a straight face whatever silly things you might ’ear them say. Is there a little bit more of the crust you can spare me?” “I quite admit,” said Erb, supplying her offered plate, “that to me there is something distasteful—” “I only put the leastest bit of onion in.” “I’m referrin’ now to the arrangement by which those who possess riches are able to call upon the working portion of the population to enable them to live idle, slothful lives. I may be wrong, but it seems to me—” “I don’t blame them,” remarked his sister quickly, with her involuntary twitching of the head. “I should do the same if I was in their place. Tapioca pudding, Erb, for after. How does that strike you?” “A tapioca and me,” said Erb genially, “have always been on speaking terms. I can always do with a tapioca. A tapioca and me are good chums. Don’t forget your stout.” “Wish I was.” “What I mean is, don’t forget to drink it. My friend Payne, by the way, may call with a message.” “I’d as lief take doctor’s stuff,” said his sister with a wry face. “What’s Payne calling about?” “Orgenisation,” answered Erb mysteriously. “Oh,” she said casually, “_that_ rot.” “You’ll have a lay down after dinner.” “I shall be busy,” answered his sister, “making meself good-looking.” “You’ll have a lay down,” Erb repeated firmly. “Besides, you look all right. Your face is a bit white, but,” with a burst of compliment, “you’d pass in a crowd. No cheese for me. _You_ ’ave some.” “I’ve done, thanks.” She bowed her head and spoke rapidly in an undertone “F,” “What we _have_ received the Lord make us—”