The mistress of all this came in an hour late. She was a thin, blonde woman with hollow cheeks and a sweet, sweet smile; she hurried forward, holding out both hands with a profuse cordiality that surprised Frances. “Is this the little country girl who’s going to do so much for me?” Blushing but courageous, Frances made some sort of answer, her candid eyes fixed on the face before her. If she hadn’t _known_, she might have thought that this haggard woman with bleached hair was “not quite nice.” But she knew that her rural standards couldn’t be applied everywhere. She wasn’t a bumpkin.... “Sit down,” Miss Eppendorfer invited, “and we’ll have tea while we chat.” It was the first time Frances had ever had tea; it was an institution as yet unknown in the suburbs during her girlhood, and utterly undeveloped in Brownsville Landing; there, when one had guests in the afternoon, they were splendidly served with lemonade and good cake. Tea and toast would have been almost an insult. The authoress had to fetch everything herself from the kitchen. “I don’t dare to disturb that black wretch,” she whispered to Frances. “She’s only looking for an excuse to go, and _then_ where shall I be? _I_ couldn’t boil an egg, could you?” Frances said that she could. “Well, my dear,” said the authoress, when she had got her samovar started, “tell me about yourself.” But she didn’t need much telling; aside from the letter she had had from the librarian in Brownsville Landing, she could see in one shrewd glance that Frances would “do”; was able to realise, as only an imitation could, how honest, how genuine was this girl. She engaged her then and there, said she was “strangely attracted” by her. And urged her to take up her duties at once. “Send home for your things,” she advised, “and settle right down to-night in your comfy little room. That’s the way I always like to do things--on the spur of the moment.” “I’d like to, but I couldn’t. They’d worry at home.” “Send a telegram, honey,” Miss Eppendorfer suggested. It was her first telegram, too, and it gave her a delightful sense of adventure, and of defiance, for she knew that Minnie would disapprove. Miss Eppendorfer opened the door of a tiny room, which, she said, was to be Frankie’s “very own.” “Isn’t it _dear_?” she asked. “I think I must have _known_ when I furnished it, that someone just like you was coming to me some day. It _expresses_ you, don’t you think so?” At first Frances thought it a delightful room, furnished all in wicker even to the bed and decorated in gay chintz; there were candles on the dressing table with rose-covered shades which at once took her eye, and a brocade glove box. She felt that she would be tremendously happy in such a nest.