A dozen times this morning she had pushed open the swing door under the impression that she heard the guest descend: the wonderful guest, who never had to touch foot to the ground, but rolled around in carriages and ate off gold plates. Blanche Aurora had vaguely expected something so overwhelming in the appearance of the millionaire's daughter that the apparition of Linda in a plain white gown, not glittering at any point, was somewhat disappointing. The flat-chested little maid viewed the tall girl's shining, waving hair and her large, grave eyes for a moment; then she spoke:-- "Pretty near hit you, didn't I?" she said airily. "My aunt--" murmured Linda. "They've gone to see the chickens, and I'm to give you your breakfast. There's your place." Blanche Aurora's businesslike, no-time-to-spare finger pointed to the white table which bore a dish of fruit and a single goldbanded plate with its complement of silver and napkin. Linda sat down meekly. "I s'pose you'll want a finger-bowl," said Blanche Aurora. "If--if it's convenient," replied Linda. The other actually smiled. "Ho! We've got lots of 'em," she returned, and stalked to the sideboard, where she poured water into a bowl and placed it close by Linda's elbow. While the guest opened an orange, the light-blue eyes watched her white ringless hands. "She don't look a bit rich," thought Blanche Aurora, "but I'll bet she's stuck-up." She withdrew against the wall, from whence Linda felt her unwinking, round stare. "Are you my aunt's little maid?" asked the girl, after the silence began to be embarrassing. "No," came the prompt reply, "I'm her help." All Blanche Aurora's remarks were made in a loud tone as if she were talking against the sound of the sea. "I come after I git the children to school." "Children?" "My brothers and sisters." Linda glanced up at the short, slight form clad in a faded gingham dress that was outgrown. "Don't you go to school yourself?" "Ho! No! I got through last year; I'm thirteen." A pause, during which the help reluctantly admired Linda's hands and her deft manner of manipulating spoon and orange. As the guest laid down the empty rind, her companion's voice rent the air. "Oatmeal, wheatena, and all the cold cereals!" she vociferated. Linda started. "I--I don't really care--" "One's jest as easy as the other. They're all handy." "I'll take the--oatmeal, please," replied Linda under the pressure of that strenuous reassurance. During the brief absence of the small maid, the girl leaned back in her chair, and looked through the open windows fronting the sea. Presently, Blanche Aurora's foot kicked open the swing door and she advanced with the cereal and noted that the guest shivered. "Be ye cold?" she questioned sharply; "I can shet the winders." "Yes, I wish you would. This is like eating on a boat."