Looking up, Miss Sheckleton observed the door open, and Tom fancied perceived him in the perspective through it, for she rose suddenly, shut it, and he saw no more. Tom had not discovered in the glance of the old lady any sign of recognition, and for the sake of appearances he had buttoned his gray wrapper close across his throat and breast so as to conceal the evidences of his ball costume; his shining boots, however, were painfully conspicuous, but for that incongruity there was no help. And now the servant who had let them in told Tom to bring the box and bag into the servants' room, to which she led him across the gallery. There was a large fire, which was pleasant, a piece of matting on the floor, a few kitchen utensils ranged near the fire-place, a deal table, and some common kitchen chairs. Dismal enough would the room have looked, notwithstanding its wainscoting, had it not been for the glow diffused by the fire. By this fire, on a kitchen chair, and upon his own opera hat, which he wished specially to suppress, sat Tom Sedley, resolved to see his adventure one hour or so into futurity, before abandoning it, and getting home to his bed, and in the meantime doing his best to act a servant, as he fancied such a functionary would appear in his moments of ease unbending in the kitchen or the servants' hall. The maid who had received the visitors in the hall, Anne Evans by name, square, black-haired, slightly pitted with smallpox, and grave, came and sat down at the other side of the fire, and eyed Tom Sedley in silence. Now and then Tom felt uncomfortably about his practical joke, which was degenerating into a deception. But an hour or so longer could not matter much; and might he not make himself really useful if the services of a messenger were required? Anne Evans was considering him in silence, and he turned a little more toward the fire, and poked it, as he fancied a groom would poke a fire for his private comfort. "Are you servant to the ladies?" at last she asked. Tom smiled at the generality of the question, but interpreting in good faith-- "No," said he, "I came with the carriage." "Servant to the gentleman?" she asked. "What gentleman?" "You know well." Tom had not an idea, but could not well say so. He therefore poked the fire again, and said, "Go on, miss; I'm listening." She did not go on, however, for some time, and then it was to say-- "My name is Anne Evans. What may your name be?" "Can't tell that. I left my name at home," said Tom, mysteriously. "Won't tell?" "Can't." "I'm only by the month. Come in just a week to-morrow," observed Anne Evans. "They'll not part with you in a month, Miss Evans. No; they has some taste and feelin' among them. I wouldn't wonder if you was here for ever!" said Tom, with enthusiasm; "and what's this place, miss--this house I mean--whose house is it?" "Can't say, only I hear it's bought for a brewery, to be took down next year." "Oh, criky!" said Tom; "that's a pity."