“He’s precious particular about bills being paid,” volunteered Jennings, with the air of a man of the world. “I heard him having a row with her one day about some bills she hadn’t paid. She’d spent the money for some nonsense and he was pretty stiff in that queer way of his. Quite right he was too. I’d have been the same myself,” pulling up his collar and stretching his neck in a manner indicating exact knowledge of the natural sentiments of a Marquis when justly annoyed. “What he intimated was that if them bills was not paid with the money that was meant to pay them, the money wouldn’t be forthcoming the next time.” Jennings was rather pleased by the word “forthcoming” and therefore he repeated it with emphasis, “It wouldn’t be _forthcoming_.” “That’d frighten her,” was Andrews’ succinct observation. “It did!” said Jennings. “She’d have gone in hysterics if he hadn’t kept her down. He’s got a way with him, Coombe has.” Andrews laughed, a brief, dry laugh. “Do you know what the child calls her?” she said. “She calls her the Lady Downstairs. She’s got a sort of fancy for her and tries to get peeps at her when we go out. I notice she always cranes her little neck if we pass a room she might chance to be in. It’s her pretty clothes and her laughing that does it. Children’s drawn by bright colours and noise that sounds merry.” “It’s my belief the child doesn’t know she _is_ her mother!” said Mrs. Blayne as she opened an oven door to look at some rolls. “It’s my belief that if I told her she was she wouldn’t know what the word meant. It was me she got the name from,” Andrews still laughed as she explained. “I used to tell her about the Lady Downstairs would hear if she made a noise, or I’d say I’d let her have a peep at the Lady Downstairs if she was very good. I saw she had a kind of awe of her though she liked her so much, so it was a good way of managing her. You mayn’t believe me but for a good bit I didn’t take in that she didn’t know there was such things as mothers and, when I did take it in, I saw there wasn’t any use in trying to explain. She wouldn’t have understood.” “How would you go about to explain a mother, anyway?” suggested Jennings. “I’d have to say that she was the person that had the right to slap your head if you didn’t do what she told you.” “I’d have to say that she was the woman that could keep you slaving at kitchen maid’s work fifteen hours a day,” said Mrs. Blayne; “My mother was cook in a big house and trained me under her.” “I never had one,” said Andrews stiffly. The truth was that she had taken care of eight infant brothers and sisters, while her maternal parent slept raucously under the influence of beer when she was not quarrelling with her offspring. Jane, the housemaid, had passed a not uncomfortable childhood in the country and was perhaps of a soft nature. “I’d say that a mother’s the one that you belong to and that’s fond of you, even if she does keep you straight,” she put in.