“Possibly,” said the other. “Come along, doggie—let’s romp a bit. Oh, by the way, before I forget it, Oliver, Mrs. Sage prefers to be—er—called Miss Judge.” Oliver’s face fell. “Oh, thunder! Am I not to call her Aunt Josephine?” “Certainly—certainly, my boy. I mean, Miss Judge in public. It seems to be a—er—a theatrical custom. On the train coming down a gentleman from Hopkinsville joined us for a few moments and I was obliged to introduce her as ‘my wife, Miss Judge.’ Come along, Henry—there’s a nice dog! Jump over my foot! Good! He did it splendidly, didn’t he, Oliver?” Meanwhile, Jane, having brushed her mother’s hair, was now employed in the more laborious task of rubbing the lady’s back—a task attended by grateful little grunts and sighs on the part of the patient and a rather expressive tightening of the lips and crinkling of the brow on the part of the impatient daughter. “You have a great deal of magnetism in your hands, my dear,” droned Mrs. Sage, luxuriously—the sort of thing one invariably purrs when one’s head is being rubbed. “As I say, my maid always did it for me in London, but God bless my soul, she never had the touch that you have. Really, my dear, it was like being scraped with sandpaper. The right shoulder now, please.” “I think Oliver is downstairs with father,” began Jane wistfully. “She was my dresser, too,” went on Mrs. Sage drowsily. “Really, I wonder now that I endured her as long as I did. And I shouldn’t, you may be sure, if she hadn’t—a little lower down, dear—if she hadn’t—ah—what was I going to say? Oh, yes; if she hadn’t been so kind to Henry the Eighth. I do hope your father is giving him a nice little romp in the front—” “Shall I run down and see, Mother?” broke in Jane eagerly. “Presently, my dear, presently. I shall be taking my tub in a few—you say we have a bathroom now? Dear me, how the house has grown. It used to be a sort of stand-up process in a wash-tub half full of warm water and suds. Ah me! What a change time has wrought. You must take me all over the house to-morrow, Jane dear. I sha’n’t be quite up to it this evening, don’t you know. How many servants have we?” “One,” said Jane succinctly. “One?” gasped Josephine. “I never heard of such a thing.” “One is all we need, and besides one is all we can afford. I am afraid you will have a lot to put up with, Mother dear.” Josephine was silent for a long time. Suddenly she lifted her head and looked up into her daughter’s face.