"I thought the cleaning was over--not a comfortable room in the house for the last fortnight." Mr. Denny was testy. His wife answered them thickly, her mouth full of pins as she adjusted her dusting apron. "Very well! Ask cook to--no, she's upstairs. Cut them yourself. There's plenty of liver. Perfectly absurd! Do you want the house a foot deep in dust? You leave the household arrangements to me! The top-floor hasn't been done for years--not thoroughly." "The top floor? Not the attics?" said Louise. "Yes! I'm re-arranging the rooms. John's getting too big for the nursery. He needs a room to himself. I'm putting him in cook's old room." Louise paused, the slice of bread half cut. "Where's cook going?" said her father. She awaited the answer, a fear catching at her breath. "Oh, in the lumber-room," said Mrs. Denny easily. "It only wants papering. A nice, big room! A sloping roof, of course. But with her wages, if she can't put up with a sloping roof--! But it'll take some clearing! You wouldn't believe what an amount of rubbish has collected." "It's not rubbish," said Louise. Her voice was low with passion. "It's not rubbish! You shan't touch it." Mrs. Denny spun round amazedly: Her step-daughter, the loaf clutched to her breast with an unconscious gesture, the big knife gleaming, was a tragi-comic figure. "What on earth----?" she began. Louise leaned forward, hot-eyed. "Mamma! You won't! You can't! You mustn't! Father, don't let her! That's Mother's room! If you put cook in Mother's room----" She choked. A priestess defending her altars could have used her accents. Mr. Denny put down his paper. "What's the matter with the girl?" he demanded. Mrs. Denny shrugged her shoulders. "I've no idea! I don't know what she means. Put down that knife; Louise--you'll cut yourself. And mind your own business, please." "You don't understand!" Louise fought for calmness, for words that should enlighten and persuade. "I didn't mean to interfere. But the big attic! Mamma! Father! That's my room. I always go there--do my lessons there--I love it! You don't know how I love it. You see----" She paused helplessly. "But you've got the nursery to sit in," said Mrs. Denny, equally helpless. "I'm sorry, Louise, if you've taken a fancy to the room--but I want it for cook." Louise made her way to the hearth and stood between the pair. "Mamma--please! Please! Please! There's the other attic for cook--not this one!" "Now be quiet, Louise!" Mrs. Denny was getting impatient. Suddenly Louise lost grip of herself.