'This is our room, and it is the only one in the house where tenants, land, and rent are never spoken of.' 'That's something to know,' said Violet. 'I agree with Olive. If things are bad, talking of them won't make them any better.' Barnes rose from her seat. 'Now don't go, Barnes. Violet, this is Barnes, our maid.' There was about Barnes a false air of homeliness; but in a few moments it became apparent that her life had been spent amid muslins, confidences, and illicit conversations. Now, with motherly care she removed a tulle skirt from the table, and Violet, with quick, nervous glances, examined the room. In the middle of the floor stood the large work-table, covered with a red cloth. There was a stand with shelves, filled on one side with railway novels, on the other with worsted work, cardboard-boxes, and rags of all kinds. A canary-cage stood on the top, and the conversation was frequently interrupted by the piercing trilling of the little yellow bird. 'You're very comfortable. I should like to come and work here with you. I am sick of Fred's perpetual talk about horses; and if he isn't talking of them his conversation is so improper that I can't listen to it.' 'Why, what does he say?' said Olive, glancing at Barnes, who smiled benignly in the background. 'Oh, I couldn't repeat what he says! it's too dreadful. I have to fly from him. But he's always at the Goulds' now; he and May are having a great "case".' 'Oh yes, I know!' said Olive; 'they never left each other at our ball. Don't you remember?' 'Of course I do. And what a jolly ball that was! I never amused myself so much in my life. If the balls at the Castle are as good, they will do. But wasn't it sad, you know, about poor Lord Kilcarney receiving the news of his brother's murder just at that moment? I can see him now, rushing out of the room.' Violet's manner did not betoken in the least that she thought it sad, and after a pause she said: 'But you haven't shown me your dresses. I loved the one you wore at the ball.' 'Yes, yes: I must show you my cream-coloured dinner-dress, and my ruby dress, too. You haven't seen that either,' cried Olive. 'Come along, Barnes, come along.' 'But I see you use your bedroom, too, as a sitting-room?' she said, as she glanced at the illustrations in a volume of Dickens and threw down a volume of Shelley's poetry. 'Oh, that's this lady, here!' cried Olive. 'She says she cannot read in our room on account of my chattering, so she comes in here to continue her schooling. I should've thought that she had had enough of it; and she makes the place in such a mess with bits of paper. Barnes is always tidying up after her.'