The cook sniffed. "More often three! ... I'm sure it's enough to drive one crazy, never knowing what's wanted. An' the tradesmen clamouring for their money ... There's the butcher to-day--'e told me straight: 'That's the last j'int you'll get from _us_!'--I've never lived in such a place...." Her voice rose. She stuck her hands on her hips and faced her young mistress. "And I won't stay--what's more! I've always been a respectable woman ... and 'ard-working ... an' treated as such..." (The quick anger induced by spirits brought the tears to her bleary eyes.) "I'm sure if my pore 'usband was 'ere, 'e'd say: 'Martha--you clear, my girl.' 'E'd be ashamed--that's wot 'e'd be ... a butler 'e were in good service. So you can tell yer mother, miss, I've made my mind up--an' I goes!" With a sob of injured pride she seized the bone in a shaky hand. "Look at that!" She brandished it under Jill's disgusted nose. "That's been our dinner since Sunday--and _Canterb'ry_--that's what it is!" Poor Jill swallowed hard, struggling to keep her temper in check. Diplomacy she knew full well was the only weapon she dared use. "Now, look here, Cook. I'm awfully sorry. But I don't want to bother Mother. She's not well--and she's worried to death ... You know what it is to feel bad." "That I do, Miss Jill!" The cook, mollified, wiped her eyes. "I'm sure with my 'eart as is always flutt'ring--an' the 'ot kitchen--an' pore food ... I didn't ought to do scrubbing--it's a crool shame at my age ... But there..." the facile sentiment born of alcohol was bubbling up and drowning anger. "I don't want to upset yer, miss. Yer don't 'ave too gay a life, you an' Master Roddy--bless 'im!--as always 'as a kind word for Cook..." She maundered on as Jill retreated, aware that the crisis was postponed. "That's right, Cookie--you'll see to it? You always make a ripping grill." "And may Heaven forgive me for the fib," she added as she ran upstairs. "I wonder why it's such a muddle? Always changing servants like this?" But in her heart she knew the fault lay in the lack of proper management. The justice of her clear young brain told her that never could they expect a good class of maid to stay in this disorganized "feckless" house! The discomfort of the servants' quarters, the wretched food and poor pay forced Mrs. Uniacke to take the riff-raff whose characters held obvious flaws--like the unsober creature below or Lizzie, lazy and insolent. And it struck the girl with sudden force that her Mother was giving up her life to secure the Vote with the main object of ameliorating the condition of women. Yet here in her own small kingdom were servants badly housed and fed, expected to work for a barren wage sixteen hours without complaint. And there was Roddy--her own brother--with riddled socks and worn-out clothes at a cheap school, while his mother spent their meagre surplus in outside expenses involved by this omnivorous Cause!