“And so I want to get away from Queen’s Road, if I can. I want to take a peep, just a peep for a little while into another world and learn how to talk and think and hold myself. Other girls like me have become ladies when they had the chance. I can’t, I _know_ I can’t, become a teacher as Mother says I must. You know that, too, when you think about me. I should teach the children everything they ought not to know, for one thing, you know I should, and throw it all up in a week. I overheard you say that to Mother the very last time you were here.” “My dear, your ears are too long. But you’re right all the same. I can’t see _you_ in a school for the shabby genteel.” A warm fierce kiss was pressed suddenly to her lips. “But what can I do to help you out? I don’t know.” “But I do, Auntie. You’re trying to find a personal maid for Lady Feo. Engage me. I may work up to become a housekeeper like you some day even. Who knows?” So that was it.—Good heavens! Miss Breezy unfolded herself from the girl’s embrace and sat with her back as stiff as a ramrod. “I couldn’t think of such a thing,” she said. “You don’t belong to the class that ladies’ maids come from, nor does your mother. A funny way to better yourself, that, I must say. Don’t mention it again, please.” She got up and shook herself as though to cast away both the girl’s spell and her absurd request. Her sister-in-law, after a long day’s work, was impatient for bed and yawning in a way which she hoped would convey a hint to her husband’s friends. She had already wound up the clock on the mantelpiece with extreme deliberation. “I think my cab must be here,” said Miss Breezy loudly, in order to help her. “I ordered him to fetch me. Don’t trouble to come down but do take the trouble to find out what’s the matter with Lola. She’s been reading too many novels or seeing too many moving pictures. I don’t know which it is.” To Mrs. Breezy’s entire satisfaction, her sister-in-law’s departure broke up the party. There was always a new day to face and she needed her eight hours’ rest. Mr. Preedy, the butcher whose inflated body bore a ludicrous resemblance to a punch ball and who smelt strongly of meat fat, his hard-bosomed spouse and Ernest Treadwell, the young man from the library who would have sold his soul for Lola, followed her down the narrow staircase. But it was Lola who got the last word. She stood on the step of the cab and put a soft hand against Miss Breezy’s cheek. “Do this for me, Auntie,” she wheedled. “Please, please. If you don’t——” “Well?” “There are other great ladies and very few ladies’ maids, and if I go to one of them, how will you be able to keep your eye on me,—and you ought to keep your eye on me, you know.”