“I’ve forgot her name,” she went on. “I’ve showed her up, because it’s such a leg-aching grind a-goin’ down and up them stairs twice--but I’ll show her down again if yer don’t want to be bothered with her--and Master Oliver all of a heap too!... I did give her a hint as it was the small-pox likely enough--and I can easy work up the idea----” The gift was pushed forward by the door opening behind her, and Emma Hartroff entered the room, her hands thrust in the side-pockets of her long jacket. She greeted Caroline breezily: “Hullo, Mrs. Baddlesmere--how are you all?... I could hear every word the little slavey said.... I thought I might come and worry Noll a bit--may I?” Caroline had risen, and came forward to greet her. “Yes, Miss Hartroff--of course you may.” “I’m so glad--I was so afraid they’d send me away.” Caroline, as she shook hands, whispered to her: “If he show signs of drowsiness, please let him go to sleep.” Emma Hartroff bowed an answer, and strode over to Noll’s bed; she nodded to the others, who made way for her, and taking her straddling stand near him, she surveyed the boy: “You _do_ look pretty sick, on my word, Noll,” said she; and added pathetically: “I wish I could do something for you--I never know what to do with kids; but----” “I say, Emma,” said Noll--“you ain’t going to a children’s party, are you?” Emma Hartroff raised eyebrows of inquiry: “N-no, Noll!” He signed to her to sit down beside him. “Then don’t play the snivelling mother,” said he--“it ain’t your size. Come and flirt with _me_--you may hold my hand.” Emma Hartroff laughed good-naturedly, and sitting down on the bed beside the boy, she took his hand: “Noll, you are very old,” she said--and she blew a breath: “Phooh! you _are_ high up.” “Yes,” he nodded--“it makes me quite giddy when I smoke a pipe.” A knock at the door--and the little drudge skipped in and shut it again. She strode down the room on tip-toe to Caroline: “Please, lidy--here’s that rummy gent as speaks like them beautiful play-actors. He’s waitin’ to see you very partic’lar.” She giggled. “He’s such a funny gentleman! Excuse my laughin’, mum, but he is that hodd and ridic’lous! When I opened the door he says, says he: ‘Hail, lugubrious smudgy serving-wench!’ says he.” She uttered a sniff, and cocked her head thoughtfully: “I expect he’s a poet or that sort of party. Jimmy, what a rum tailor he has! But if you ask me, mum, he knows how to spell hungry. I knows a man’s eyes when he’s short of his victuals. I ought ter.” Sniff. “I do love the the-ayter. They talks so beautiful--just as if words had meanin’ in them. Not a bit like real people----” “May I ask what the gentleman is doing, meanwhile?” asked Caroline drily. The girl leaned forward, and added confidentially behind the back of her hand: “He’s on the mat.” She jerked her thumb at the door. Caroline shifted uneasily in her chair: