That anyone meeting Miss Mitt, in London, say, would guess her to be the Warden of twelve pernickety old women, is unlikely; and this not because London seldom or never estimates provincials at their true worth, but because she was so small and unobtrusive. But in her own abode of authority there was no doubt, for, though still small and unobtrusive, she wore there, on her brow, the sign manual of responsibility and control. I had a long talk with her about her duties and difficulties. "I love the work," she said, "but it's not too easy. I'm not complaining, you know. I don't think things ought to be easy." "Why ever not?" I asked. "Oh, I don't know," she said, "but I've always had that feeling ever since I was a child." Of course she had, poor little Nonconformist, or, shall I say, poor little Anglo-Saxon? "Lotus-eating would give you a terrible stomach-ache," I said, "wouldn't it?" And the plucky little creature had the hardihood to reply, "I hope so." What can you do with people like this? and England is full of them. Suspicion of happiness is in our blood. "Tell me about the old pests," I said. "Oh no, Mr. Falconer," she replied, "they're not old pests. They're dears. Only now and then, as old people will, they have troublesome ways. I really believe that the worst of all is jealousy. It makes it so difficult for me to be quite open, and I hate not to be. If I show a little more attention to one than another I'm sure to hear about it or notice the effects of it." "Ah, jealousy!" I said. "That's the real blot on mankind. You know the origin of it, of course. The good God first made man, and then, as you remember, He extracted woman from man's side. He was so much occupied in gazing at this new work of His hand, so suddenly thought of and created, that He forgot that the aperture was not closed, and before He could close it a little poisonous reptile had crept in. It has been there ever since, and no human blood is free from it. Look how much of it Cain at once inherited!" "Oh dear, how terrible!" said Miss Mitt. "And is that really true?" and she clicked her tongue. "Well, there's plenty of it here. I can do with their ordinary tantrums and their ailments and their grumblings: but it is so hard to have to keep away from the nicer ones because the others can't bear it, and to have to do things surreptitiously." I asked her which were the worse, the single or the married women. She was forced to give the palm to the single. "I suppose," she said, "it's because the married ones have been married and are therefore--therefore----" Here she was at a loss. I helped her out. "--are therefore," I said, "more inured to trouble and vexations." "Yes," Miss Mitt agreed, "if you don't mind my thinking so." "Men are a nuisance, aren't they?" I said.