“No, no, only just. I ought to tell you there’s one thing Miss Ladd is strict about--sweethearts. Are you quite sure,” Francine inquired jocosely, “that you can answer for yourself, in that particular?” This effort of humor produced its intended effect. Mrs. Ellmother, thrown off her guard, actually smiled. “Lord, miss, what will you say next!” “My good soul, I will say something next that is more to the purpose. If Miss Ladd asks me why you have so unaccountably refused to be a servant again in this house, I shall take care to say that it is certainly not out of dislike to Miss Emily.” “You need say nothing of the sort,” Emily quietly remarked. “And still less,” Francine proceeded, without noticing the interruption--“still less through any disagreeable remembrances of Miss Emily’s aunt.” Mrs. Ellmother saw the trap that had been set for her. “It won’t do, miss,” she said. “What won’t do?” “Trying to pump me.” Francine burst out laughing. Emily noticed an artificial ring in her gayety which suggested that she was exasperated, rather than amused, by the repulse which had baffled her curiosity once more. Mrs. Ellmother reminded the merry young lady that the proposed arrangement between them had not been concluded yet. “Am I to understand, miss, that you will keep a place open for me in your service?” “You are to understand,” Francine replied sharply, “that I must have Miss Ladd’s approval before I can engage you. Suppose you come to Brighton? I will pay your fare, of course.” “Never mind my fare, miss. Will you give up pumping?” “Make your mind easy. It’s quite useless to attempt pumping _you_. When will you come?” Mrs. Ellmother pleaded for a little delay. “I’m altering my gowns,” she said. “I get thinner and thinner--don’t I, Miss Emily? My work won’t be done before Thursday.” “Let us say Friday, then,” Francine proposed. “Friday!” Mrs. Ellmother exclaimed. “You forget that Friday is an unlucky day.” “I forgot that, certainly! How can you be so absurdly superstitious.” “You may call it what you like, miss. I have good reason to think as I do. I was married on a Friday--and a bitter bad marriage it turned out to be. Superstitious, indeed! You don’t know what my experience has been. My only sister was one of a party of thirteen at dinner; and she died within the year. If we are to get on together nicely, I’ll take that journey on Saturday, if you please.” “Anything to satisfy you,” Francine agreed; “there is the address. Come in the middle of the day, and we will give you your dinner. No fear of our being thirteen in number. What will you do, if you have the misfortune to spill the salt?” “Take a pinch between my finger and thumb, and throw it over my left shoulder,” Mrs. Ellmother answered gravely. “Good-day, miss.” “Good-day.”