"But he ain't here," persisted Hannah fearfully, "He's went for good this time." Eleanor, sitting demurely by the door, had a moment of unholy exultation. Old black Tom, the butler, had been Madam's chief domestic prop for a quarter of a century. He had been the patient buffer between her and the other servants, taking her domineering with unfailing meekness, and even venturing her defense when mutiny threatened below stairs. "You-all don't understand old Miss," he would say loyally. "She's all right, only she's jes' nachully mean, dat's all." In the turning of this humble worm, Eleanor felt in some vague way a justification of her own rebellion. His departure, however, did not tend to clear the domestic atmosphere. By the time Madam had settled the plumbing question and expressed her opinion of Tom and all his race, she was in no mood to deal leniently with the shortcomings of a headstrong young granddaughter. "Well," she said, addressing her at last, "why didn't you make it midnight?" "It's only a little after five." Eleanor knew she was putting up a feeble defense, and her hands grew cold. "It is nearly six, and it is dark. Couldn't you have withdrawn the sunshine of your presence from the hospital half an hour sooner?" Under her sharp glance there was a curious protective tenderness, the savage concern of a lioness for her whelp; but Eleanor saw only the scoffing expression in the keen eyes, and heard the note of irony in all she said. "Your going out to the hospital is all foolishness, anyhow," the old lady continued, sorting her papers with efficiency. "Contagious diseases, germs, and what not. But some women would be willing to go to Hades if they could tie a becoming rag around their heads. Why didn't you dress yourself properly before you came in here?" "I wanted to, but Aunt----" "Aunt Enid, I suppose! If it was left to her she'd have you trailing around in a Greek tunic and sandals, with a laurel wreath on your head." There was an ominous pause, during which Madam's wrinkled, bony hands, flashing with diamonds, searched rapidly among the papers. "You are all ready to start on Monday? Your clothes are in good condition, I presume?" Eleanor brought her gaze from a detached contemplation of the ceiling to a critical inspection of her finger-nails. "I suppose Aunt Isobel has attended to them," she said indifferently. "Aunt Isobel, indeed!" snarled Madam. "You'd lean on a broken reed if you depended on Isobel. And Enid is no better. _I_ attended to your clothes. I got you everything you need, even down to a new set of furs." "Silver fox?" asked Eleanor, brightening visibly. "No, mink. I can't abide fox. Ah! here's what I am looking for. Your ticket and berth reservation. Train leaves at ten-thirty Monday morning." "Grandmother," ventured Eleanor, summing up courage to lead a forlorn hope, "you are just wasting money sending me back to Baltimore." "It's my money," said the old lady grimly.