“And that's not all, sir,” said Pearson. “She's a beautiful girl, sir, with a figure, and service is sometimes not easy for a young woman like that. His lordship--the master of the house, sir,--is much too attentive. He's a man with bad habits; the last lady's-maid was sent away in disgrace. Her ladyship wouldn't believe she hadn't been forward when she saw things she didn't like, though every one in the hall knew the girl hated his bold ways with her, and her mother nearly broke her heart. He's begun with Rose, and it just drives me mad, sir, it does!” He choked, and wiped his forehead with his clean handkerchief. It was damp, and his young eyes had fire in them, as Mr. Temple Barholm did not fail to observe. “I'm taking a liberty talking to you like this, sir,” he said. “I'm behaving as if I didn't know my place, sir.” “Your place is behind that fellow, kicking him till he'll never sit down again except on eider-down cushions three deep,” remarked Mr. Temple Barholm, with fire in his eyes also. “That's where your place is. It's where mine would be if I was in the same house with him and caught him making a goat of himself. I bet nine Englishmen out of ten would break his darned neck for him if they got on to his little ways, even if they were lordships themselves.” “The decent ones won't know,” Pearson said. “That's not what happens, sir. He can laugh and chaff it off with her ladyship and coax her round. But a girl that's discharged like that, Rose says, that's the worst of it: she says she's got a character fastened on to her for life that no respectable man ought to marry her with.” Mr. Temple Barholm removed his leg from the arm of his chair and got up. Long-legged, sinewy, but somewhat slouchy in his badly made tweed suit, sharp New York face and awful American style notwithstanding, he still looked rather nice as he laid his hand on his valet's shoulder and gave him a friendly push. “See here,” he said. “What you've got to say to Rose is that she's just got to cut that sort of thing out--cut it right out. Talking to a man that's in love with her as if he was likely to throw her down because lies were told. Tell her to forget it--forget it quick. Why, what does she suppose a man's FOR, by jinks? What's he FOR?” “I've told her that, sir, though of course not in American. I just swore it on my knees in Hyde Park one night when she got out for an hour. But she laid her poor head on the back of the bench and cried and wouldn't listen. She says she cares for me too much to--” Tembarom's hand clutched his shoulder. His face lighted and glowed suddenly. “Care for you too much,” he asked. “Did she say that? God bless her!” “That's what I said,” broke in Pearson. “I heard another girl say that--just before I left New York--a girl that's just a wonder,” said his master. “A girl can be a wonder, can't she?” “Rose is, sir,” protested Pearson. “She is, indeed, sir. And her eyes are that blue--”