"Keep still, Philander," snapped Mrs. Smith-Parvis, very red in the face. "It came in again, thicker than before," she could not help explaining. "And don't be absurd, Stuyvesant. This is my affair. Please do not interfere again. I--What was I saying?" "Something about drinking and the butler, Mrs. Smith-Parvis," said Jane, drily. It was evident that Stuyvesant had not carried tales to his mother. She would not have to defend herself against a threatened charge. Her sense of humour was at once restored. "Naturally I cannot descend to the discussion of anything so perfectly vile. Your conduct this afternoon is sufficient--ah,--sufficient unto the day. I am forced to dismiss you without a reference. Furthermore, I consider it my duty to protect other women as unsuspecting as I have been. You are in no way qualified to have charge of young and well-bred girls. No apology is desired," she hastily declared, observing symptoms of protest in the face of the delinquent; "so please restrain yourself. I do not care to hear a single word of apology, or any appeal to be retained. You may go now, my girl. Spare us the tears. I am not turning you out into the streets tonight. You may remain until tomorrow morning." "I am going tonight," said Jane, quite white,--with suppressed anger. "It isn't necessary," said the other, loftily. "Where are you going?" inquired Mr. Smith-Parvis, senior, fumbling with his nose-glasses. "Have you any friends in the city?" Miss Emsdale ignored the question. She picked up the check and folded it carefully. "I should like to say good-bye to the--to Eudora and Lucille," she said, with an effort. "That is out of the question," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis. Jane deliberately turned her back upon Mrs. Smith-Parvis and moved toward the door. It was an eloquent back. Mrs. Smith-Parvis considered it positively insulting. "Stop!" she cried out. "Is that the way to leave a room, Miss Emsdale? Please remember who and what you are. I can not permit a servant to be insolent to me." "Oh, come now, Angela, dear," began Mr. Smith-Parvis, uncomfortably. "Seems to me she walks properly enough. What's the matter with her--There, she's gone! I can't see what--" "You would think the hussy imagines herself to be the Queen of England," sputtered Mrs. Smith-Parvis angrily. "I've never seen such airs." The object of her derision mounted the stairs and entered her bed-chamber on the fourth floor. Her steamer-trunk and her bags were nowhere in sight. A wry little smile trembled on her lips. "Must you be going?" she said to herself, whimsically, as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror. There was no one to say good-bye to her, except Peasley, the footman. He opened the big front door for her, and she passed out into the foggy March night. A fine mist blew upon her hot face. "Good-bye, Miss," said Peasley, following her to the top of the steps. "Good-bye, Peasley. Thank you for taking down my things."