“Well, I don’t know—she’s quite civil,” said Mrs. Hooper reflectively. She added, after a minute—“It’s extraordinary how the servants will do anything for her!” “Why, of course, she tips them!” cried Alice, indignantly. Mrs. Hooper shrugged her shoulders. It was quite indifferent to her whether Connie tipped them or not, so long as she gained by the result. And there was no denying the fact that the house had never gone so smoothly as since Connie’s arrival. At the same time her conscience reminded her that there was probably something else than “tipping” in the matter. For instance—both Constance and Annette were now intimately acquainted with each of Mrs. Hooper’s three maids, and all their family histories; whereas Mrs. Hooper always found it impossible to remember their surnames. A few days before this date, Susan the housemaid had received a telegram telling her of the sudden death of a brother in South Africa. In Mrs. Hooper’s view it was providential that the death had occurred in South Africa, as there could be no inconvenient question of going to the funeral. But Connie had pleaded that the girl might go home for two days to see her mother; Annette had done the housework during her absence; and both maid and mistress had since been eagerly interested in the girl’s mourning, which had been largely supplied out of Connie’s wardrobe. Naturally the opinion of the kitchen was that “her ladyship is sweet!” Alice, however, had not found any sweetness in Connie. Was it because Mr. Herbert Pryce seemed to take a mysterious pleasure in pointing out her, charms to Alice? Alice supposed he meant it well. There was a didactic element in him which was always leading him to try and improve other people. But it filled her with a silent fury. “Is everybody coming to the picnic to-morrow?” asked Mrs. Hooper presently. “Everybody.” Alice pointed indifferently to a pile of notes lying on her desk. “You asked Connie if we should invite Mr. Falloden?” “Of course I did, mother. He is away till next week.” “I wonder if she cares for him?” said Mrs. Hooper vaguely. Alice laughed. “If she does, she consoles herself pretty well, when he’s not here.” “You mean with Mr. Sorell?” Alice nodded. “Such a ridiculous pretence, those Greek lessons!” she said, her small face flaming. “Nora says, after they have done a few lines, Constance begins to talk, and Mr. Sorell throws himself back in his chair, and they chatter about the places they’ve seen together, and the people they remember, till there’s no more time left. Nora says it’s a farce.” “I say, who’s taking my name in vain?” said Nora, who had just opened the schoolroom door and overheard the last sentence. “Come in and shut the door,” said Alice, “we were talking about your Greek lessons.” “Jolly fun they are!” said Nora, balancing herself, as usual, on the window-sill. “We don’t do much Greek, but that don’t matter! What are these notes, mother?”