During the daytime she was supposed to dust the dining-room, drawing-room, and Mrs. Woolley’s bedroom, but she soon found out that no accumulation of dust, cigarette ends, or actual dirt would ever be noticed by the mistress of the house. There was a general servant, who was inclined to resent Elsie’s presence in the house, and who left very soon after her arrival. Another one came, and was sent away at the end of a week’s trial because Mrs. Woolley said she was impertinent, and after an uncomfortable interim, during which Elsie nominally “did” the cooking, and they lived upon tinned goods and pressed beef, there came a short-lived succession of maids who never stayed. At first, Doctor Woolley was seldom seen by Elsie. He went out early, and both he and his wife were out nearly every night. Mrs. Woolley told Elsie that they adored the theatre. Elsie, who adored it too, had on these occasions, after putting the two children to bed, to remain sulkily behind while Dr. and Mrs. Woolley, after an early meal, walked away together to the Underground station. Sometimes Dr. Woolley was sent for, and could not go, and Mrs. Woolley rang up one of her friends on the telephone--always another woman--and took her instead. One evening after this had happened, the doctor returned unexpectedly early, just as Elsie had finished putting Gladys and Sonnie to bed. She was coming downstairs, some needlework in her hands, as the doctor slammed the hall door behind him. Instantly the prospect of a dreary evening, probably to be spent in sucking sweets and surreptitiously looking over everything on Mrs. Woolley’s untidy writing-table, disappeared. “Hallo! And how was you to-morrow, Miss Elsie?” cried the doctor genially. He was a stout, middle-aged man, jocose and very often foul-mouthed, with nicotine stains on his fingers and grease spots on his waistcoat. He affected a manner of speech that Elsie found intensely amusing. “You and I all on our ownie own, eh? Where’s the missus?--and the kids?” “The children are in bed, and Mrs. Woolley’s gone to the play with Miss Smith, Doctor.” “And haven’t you got a drink of cocoa and a bit of bread for a poor man, kind lady?” Elsie burst out laughing. “You’re so silly, I can’t help laughing!” “‘Silly,’ says she, quite the lady. ‘How’s that?’ says I; to which she says, ‘Not at all,’ says she, and the same to you and many of them,” was the doctor’s reply. Elsie giggled wildly. “Come along now, tell that slut in the kitchen to stir her stumps and bring some food to the dining-room. Have you had your supper yet?” “No, Doctor.” “Then you and I will make a party-carry, otherwise a _tête-à-tête_, otherwise a night of it. Run along and I’ll get out something that will make your hair curl.” Elsie had heard this formula before, and understood that the doctor would unlock the door of the tiny wine-cellar and bring out a bottle.