"And serve her right, she's over head and ears in love with that priceless jewel, your husband's man; it's as plain as the nose on her face, and there's no doubt of the plainness of that. I know the symptoms, they are unmistakable: they always are, among the ministering classes. He was Capt before, now it's 'Mr. Capt' here and 'Mr. Capt' there. Mistering is always the first sign, Georgie. No, I've no patience with her at all. It appears he gave her a thermometer about a week ago; she has carried this thing about in her pocket ever since; the mercury has got separated, and she passes her whole time in weeping and shaking the horrid thing, and trying to get it back again. Now I ask you, Georgie, just look at her." A mirror, turned towards an open door, disclosed the lovelorn Hephzibah in the next room. Her proceedings were sufficiently grotesque. In her hand she held a small ornamental thermometer; she would shake it violently in the air, she would then regard it intently with a puzzled expression, then she would shake her head and proceed to furiously agitate it once more. Failing in her purpose, she wept bitterly. Good-natured as Georgina was, she could not resist a smile. "Hephzibah, you fool, come here," cried Lucy. The maid at once secreted the thermometer in her bosom. "Why do you hide the nasty thing?" said Lucy. "Oh, miss, I'm ashamed." "And what are you crying for?" "Please, miss, because of the omen." "What do you mean?" said Georgina; "do calm yourself, Hephzibah." "Oh, miss, only look," cried the girl, as she took the scientific love-token from its hiding place; "the quicksilver have separated, never to be re-united, and isn't that an omen, miss?" Here the maid shook the thermometer with redoubled fury. "You stupid creature, so you believe in all that nonsense, do you?" "I may be stupid, Miss Lucy, but I've never known a sign or omen fail. Didn't the cook at The Warren, miss, predict, with coffee grounds, that I should be engaged to a foreign gentleman, but that some one younger and more beautiful would prove a jealous rival? Here I am engaged, miss, or as good, to Mr. Capt; and I know what this omen means. You may laugh, miss, but it's a very serious thing." "I shouldn't wonder at all, Hephzibah; the hotel prospectus says there are no less than fifty chambermaids here. Perhaps even fifty jealous rivals." "Mr. Capt don't demean himself to chambermaids, Miss Lucy," retorted the abigail with angry scorn. "Oh, I've no doubt Capt is ambitious; perhaps he looks higher. Perhaps I shall be your rival, Hephzibah." "You wouldn't have the heart to do it, miss," said the girl in all seriousness. Mrs. Haggard gave her cousin a reproving glance, but Lucy imperturbably continued: "Well, Hephzibah," she said, "I think you may consider yourself safe from me, at least; but I'll help you if you'll let me."