Louise is rather a horsy person and, I think, preferred walks with the coachman to sitting in a stuffy room, even with Perrin’s wit to lighten the atmosphere. Like all horsy people she has a quick, kindly nature, and none of that touchy indigestion that spoils so many indoor servants. She is an excellent dressmaker. The only times when I am not well dressed are on the days preceding any race-meeting of importance; then she loses her head and behaves like a feverish bird about to lay a nest-egg. “Mr. Jenkins’s Hardup seems to be a likely winner for to-morrow, ma’am,” she says excitedly, brushing my hair with such energy that I feel I ought to stand up and straighten my legs while she gets up a good gloss. “How much have you got on him, Louise?” I ask, setting my teeth. “Well, ma’am, from what Mr. Pierce tells me of the way he is shaping, according to to-day’s paper, I think I shall have a bit both ways; not very much, of course; half a crown, I dare say.” “You didn’t pick the winner for me last Newmarket as I told you. There, I am sure that will do beautifully,” I say, trying to escape before her state of mind leads her to throw a blanket over my hind quarters. Some day she will do it, and I shall find it difficult to hit exactly the right note in what I say. On the actual day of the race I can get nothing done, from the time when she brings my tea in the morning and forgets the hot water until the evening when she sends me, by the altogether disapproving Perrin, a paper (with the day’s results marked in a trembling hand) which she and Pierce have walked three miles to buy. She begs to be excused, of course, and would I care to glance at the news. That is one side of Louise’s character. The other side is very feminine: loves clothes, and scent, and money, and love-making. She will never make what is called a good servant because I cannot teach her not to enjoy her life, and I am bound to say I have not tried. There is only one serious flaw in her so far as I am concerned, and that is her passion for dogs. She began by throwing out hints that I should keep a dog and, when these failed to take effect, she frankly besought me to keep one. I said: “Louise, I have your master and the two children. That is quite as much as I care to undertake.” “Lord love you, ma’am,” she replied, “poor little darlings! you could keep both, and I would look after him, indeed I would.” “You can keep an entire pack if you like,” I said, “so long as you chain them to your bed, and don’t let them dribble and roll over me.” The poor thing was in ecstasies, and I learned that Mr. Pierce knew of a splendid bull pup that was wanting a home.