“My dear! Please! I’ve practically promised.” “I can’t help it. I _couldn’t_.” “But _why_?” Frances looked at her indignantly. “I wouldn’t cook for _that man_!” she said, severely. “What is your objection to him, may I ask?” enquired Miss Eppendorfer, with sudden frigidity. “I’d rather not say.” “I insist.” “I’m not going to say. It has nothing to do with the case, anyway. I don’t mind--I _never_ mind doing things for _you_. But ... I should think you’d know better than to ask me to cook for your guests. I’m supposed to be your secretary, Miss Eppendorfer, not your servant.” She was startled by the expression on Miss Eppendorfer’s face. “A hell of a secretary you are!” she screamed. “You don’t know a damned thing. You’re no more use to me than a parrot. You take my money and never do a stroke of work. You’re as lazy as a nigger.” And much, much more, of abuse that grew fouler and fouler, most of it unintelligible to the girl. She stood motionless, white as a sheet, dumb with horror, her own little anger swept away on this violent torrent. She never forgot the scene, or the words. “Oh!” she whispered. “Oh!... How terrible!... Oh, God, how terrible!” For she had a dreadful feeling of helplessness, of being in a world where her dignity was of no avail. She cried forlornly for Minnie and her grandmother, even for her mother, dead a score of years. She had packed her trunk and was absolutely determined to go home that night when Miss Eppendorfer came to the door, imploring to be let in. She, too, was in tears, streaming with tears, and she went down on her knees to Frances. “Forgive me!” she cried. “Forgive me! Frances, darling, you know how terribly nervous I am! Don’t be too hard on me. I can’t live without you!” She was so dreadfully upset that Frances had to get her to bed and give her a dose of some powerful sedative she used for her “nerve attacks,” and telephoned to Hassler not to come. And in the end she agreed not to go home. But she remained very grave and thoughtful. She went out to supper at a little French table d’hôte nearby, came back and went to bed, without seeing Miss Eppendorfer again. She was waked up late that night, though, by her. The poor creature was crying again, standing by Frankie’s bed. “Oh, Frances!” she moaned, “I’m so wretched! I wish I were dead!” Frances asked what was the matter. “Kurt was so nasty to me,” she sobbed. “I rang him up after you’d gone out, and he came. But he wouldn’t stay a minute. He just looked at the supper and went away. I _tried_! I had sardines and caviare and fruit, all fixed in a dainty way.... Oh, _Frances_!” Her voice rose to a shriek that alarmed Frances. “Don’t get excited!” she entreated. “Just tell me, quietly, all about it. First let me close the window.”