"I wouldn't trouble you for the world, Mr. Hand," she tossed back. "You'd stumble and break Parson Thayer's best china that I've washed for seventeen years and only broke the handle of one cup. She wouldn't drink her coffee this morning outer the second-best cups; went to the buttery before breakfast and picked out wunner the best set, and poured herself a cup. She said it was inspiring, but I call it wasteful--and me with extra work all day!" Sallie disappeared, leaving a dribbling trail of good-natured complaint behind her. Mr. Hand continued making broth--at which he was as expert as he was at the lever or the launch engine. He strained and seasoned, and regarded two floating islands of oily substance with disapproval. While he was working Sallie joined him again at the stove, her important and injured manner all to the front. "Says she'll take another aig," she explained. "Only took one yesterday, and then I had two all cooked." "What did I tell you?" jeered Hand. "You didn't tell me anything about aigs, not that I recollect," Sallie replied tartly. "Well, the principle's the same," asserted Hand. After a moment his countenance assumed a crafty and jocose expression, which would have put even Sallie on her guard if she had looked up in time to see it. "You won't have so much extra work when mademoiselle's maid arrives," he said slyly. "_She'll_ wait on mademoiselle and attend to her tray when she wants one, and you won't have to do anything for mademoiselle at all." Sallie became slowly transfixed in a spread-eagle attitude, with the half of a thin white egg-shell held up in each hand. "A maid! When's she coming?" "Ought to be here now, she's had time enough. But women never can get round without wasting a lot of time." Sallie's glance must have brought him to his senses, for he added hastily, "City women, I mean." "Hm! She won't touch Parson Thayer's china--not if I know myself!" Sallie disappeared with Miss Redmond's second egg. When she returned, she delivered a message to the effect that Miss Redmond wished to see Mr. Hand when he had finished his luncheon. He was off instantly, calling, "Watch that broth, Sallie!" It was a different Hand, however, who entered Miss Redmond's room a moment later. His half impudent manner changed to distant respect, tinged with a sort of personal adoration. Agatha felt it, though it was too intangible to be taken notice of, either for rebuke or reward. Agatha was sitting in a rocking-chair by the window, sipping her tea out of the best tea-cup, her tray on a stand in front of her. She looked excited and flushed, but her eyes were tired. "Can I do anything for you, Mademoiselle?" Hand inquired courteously.