“It’s a duty as you’ll never do. We know you well, all of us, in this ’ouse. And if you’re sensible you’ll take my advice. You’ll be seen to, and kept comfortable, if you don’t give no trouble. Cook is a-sending you up a bit of dinner. You’ll be waited on as good, or better, as you were ever used to--but, Lord bless you, what’s the good of pretending. You was never used to a man like me waiting upon you--and why should you now? John, he says the same thing. We’re very hard worked when they’re at ’ome, and we’re going to have a ’oliday. It won’t make no difference what you say.” “I don’t care at all,” cried Mary, “whether you wait upon me or not--but you will be so good as to retire from here.” “And what if I don’t, miss?” If this was a romantic tale I should recount how the man was subdued, how he hesitated and finally withdrew in obedience to the influence of her presence and the dignity of her look. But I am obliged to say that no such result followed. Saunders, who had been drinking and was just at the point when audacity is paramount, sat leaning with both his elbows on the table, staring across it at the poor lady for whom he would have had no respect whatever had she looked like a queen, and it was Mary who was frightened. She repeated, “I must ask you to retire from this room,” but with a faltering voice, for she knew that she had no authority to enforce her request, and so did he. “Sorry to disoblige you, miss, if you think it ain’t becoming. But I’m very comfortable, thank ye, here.” She stood a moment irresolute, not knowing what to do, and then it was she who retired. She said, “I will write to Mr. Parke,” but Saunders replied only with an insolent laugh. And Mary hurried upstairs again with something like terror. She found the footman without his coat on the stairs, carrying down the hunting clothes which John Parke had worn on the previous day, and accompanied by one of the housemaids, who was by way of helping him with jocular snatchings and droppings of the burden. They scarcely paused in their flirtation when Mary appeared. She said, in her mildest tones, “You forget, John, that your mistress likes you to use the backstairs.” “My missis ain’t here,” said the man; “it’s all one the front stairs or the back stairs when they’re away.” “I do not think Mrs. Parke would be pleased to hear you say so,” said Mary. “Well, she don’t hear me say so,” replied the man, with an insolent air. “Oh, John!” said the housemaid, “don’t answer Miss ’Ill like that. Don’t you know as she’s set over us to see as we does our duties, and tell everything as goes wrong?” “I don’t hold with no spies, I don’t,” said John, “whether they’s ladies, or whether they’s Irish fellows. I don’t say things behind folks’ backs as I wouldn’t say to their faces; and I says, Miss ’Ill----”