About two months before there had died a certain Lady Brown, who was rather a well-known person on account of her having lived much abroad and published a large number of books containing her experiences of the Riviera, the Dolomites, the Alps, the Rhine, and other foreign places. Her husband, Sir Bartholomew Brown, had gone to the East since her death, and was supposed to be wandering about somewhere in Persia at the present moment. As, therefore, no reference was possible to either the deceased Lady Brown or her husband, and as they had been childless, it occurred to me that if I asserted myself to have been her maid up to the time of her death, there was no one to disprove the statement. Accordingly, I indited a character purporting to be written by Sir Bartholomew, wherein it was set forth that Caroline Jill had been for two years in his late wife's service; had only left on account of that lady's death; had given entire satisfaction during the whole time of her service; was a first-rate traveller; and was a trustworthy, sober, steady, exemplary, and in-all-ways-to-be-recommended-maid. I wasted several sheets of paper over this composition before I could please myself; and when I had succeeded in getting it to my mind I copied it out in a feigned hand--bold, rather scrawling, legible, and masculine-looking. Of course there was a danger of the forgery being detected, if Lady Mervyn should happen to be acquainted with Sir Bartholomew's handwriting. But then it was quite likely that she was _not_; and I would try to find out if she knew him before I produced the character; and, even if the worst came to the worst, the chances were that she would not take the trouble to prosecute me, and I should have just as good a prospect as before of obtaining a situation with some one else. By the time my preparations were completed it was later than I thought, and as the underlining of the word "punctually" in the note made me think it important not to be late, I started off in such a hurry that I tumbled downstairs and bruised myself unpleasantly. However, I did not stay to doctor my hurts then, but hurried on, and arrived at my destination just as the Eaton Square Church clock was striking half-past five. It then appeared that my fear of being late had been quite uncalled-for, and that I might have spared myself the bruises which my haste had caused me, for Lady Mervyn had not yet returned from driving. The fact was she had followed the usual plan of fashionable ladies and gentlemen, who, when they make an appointment with an inferior, take care that they themselves shall not be kept waiting, but do not the least object to inflicting that annoyance on the other party. No doubt such people consider that the time of a servant, tradesman, farmer, or poor person is much less valuable than their own, and a thing of so little importance that it may be wasted at pleasure.