"No’m. Certaintly not. But, by the same token, she ain’t afraid o’ me. Till the one gets the upper hand o’ the other, neither of us won’t know where we’re at. An’, meanwhile, we’re both lyin’ low. I guess animals is some like childern. They like to try it on, oncet in a while, an’ if, be this or be that, you don’t master’m at the first go-off, they’ll be no earthly good to you. Even when you got’m trained, they’re like as not to get skittish. Take my girl, Cora, or our small dog, for instance. Now, Flicker’s as steady a little fella as ever drew breath. But this mornin’, if he didn’t suddently get gay, an’ lep’ right through one o’ the curtains I was mendin’ for Miss Claire—I _should_ say, Mrs. Ronald. Now, it’s up to me to buy a new half o’ bobbinet, an’ all for the sake o’ Flicker dreamin’ he’d like to go on a tear." Madam Crewe drew down her lips primly. "I have no doubt repairing the damage will cause you considerable trouble," she said. "I don’t mind the trouble. It’s the bobbinet _I_ mind. I wonder, now, how much you’d have to give a yard for fine, acrow bobbinet." "Katherine," exclaimed Madam Crewe, summoning the girl to her so abruptly that Martha was alarmed. Miss Crewe was at her grandmother’s side in an instant, bending her head to catch the whispered words the old woman strained forward to breathe in her ear. "I guess I must be movin’," said Martha, after Katherine had left the room. "The childern need me, an’ I’ve already tired you out with my long tongue." "No. Stay. Sit down!" Mrs. Slawson sat, though after her little fusillade of commands, Madam Crewe did not deign to address another syllable to her, and made plain that she could dispense with conversation on Martha’s part. The silence had become oppressive when, at last, Miss Crewe reappeared. With her was Eunice Youngs, and between them they laboriously lugged a sizable chest. Madam Crewe waited until the box had been set down before her, then imperiously waved Eunice away as if she had been a bothersome fly. As soon as she had disappeared, fresh commands rapped out thick and fast. "My keys. In the basket hanging behind the hamper in my closet. On the first hook. Yes, that bunch. Now, _that_ key. No, not that one, _that_ one!" Before Katherine could fit the key in the lock, Madam Crewe stopped her with a gesture. "Wait. I’ve something to say. When I was young, a girl got proper plenishing," she observed dryly. "In those days a bride’s outfit didn’t consist of bows of ribbon on rags of lace—layers on layers of nothingness, as if she were a ballet-dancer, or worse. My outfit—(’twas a good English outfit, no flimsy French trousseau!) my outfit will outlast me and you, young lady, will reap the benefit of it, if you marry to please me. But not a yard or an inch, mind you (Slawson is here to bear witness to what I say!), not a yard, not an inch, nor a penny of my money, if you marry otherwise. And that reminds me."