"Oh, good afternoon. You are Miss Harding? I was just wondering--have you any engagement for the mornings?" I looked at her calmly, and said I had. Several! Most householders had. She jerked her head, and said impatiently:-- "I didn't mean that. You take Mrs Manners' children out, I see. I might be glad of a little help myself. It's such a bore pram-pushing every day. How much do you charge?" It is difficult to look haughty through blue spectacles, and while I was trying, it occurred to me that it was a waste of time. It was a plain business question. She did not mean to be insulting, so I smiled instead--rather feebly, I confess--and said:-- "I don't charge. Mrs Manners is not well. It is a pleasure to me to take charge of the children, so that she may have a little rest." She "begged pardon" hastily, and with repetition, staring the while with incredulous eyes. Quite evidently she considered me a benevolent lunatic, and marked me down as a useful prey. I might not be willing to push her pram, but--The very next evening a small servant knocked at the door with Mrs Lorrimer's compliments, and could Miss Harding lend her a fresh egg? (Her name is Lorrimer, and the children are called Claudia, Moreen, and Eric, and look it.) A fortnight has passed since that encounter, and the tale of her indebtedness to me is now as follows:-- One egg. A cup of sugar. Two lemons. "A bit of butter, as we're run out." A box of matches and a candle. "One scuttle of nice cobbles, please. We have only slack left." Three stamps. "Just a pinch or two of tea, as we forgot to order over Sunday." Bridget opines that it will go from bad to worse, and recommends putting a foot down. Gossip from the "Well" has it that if you "give in to them, they'll take the very dinner off the table". When it comes to that point, I shall certainly stamp hard; but in the meantime I let things slide. I suspect Mrs Lorrimer of being too much engrossed in herself to trouble about such a detail as providing meals for her spouse. Without my aid he would probably have eaten his pancakes without any lemons, and feasted on dry bread by a smouldering fire. I like myself in the _role_ of an unknown benefactor!