He seldom saw her speak to the other maids. Yet it was clear to him that this isolation was unnatural to her, and that she was made for quiet intercourse and noble mirth. Unlike the other maids she was always busy. She never romped, gossiped, or flirted. One evening Ernie saw a fat-necked Jew in a sleeping suit, his mouth stuffed with a cigar, his eyes hot and bibulous, standing in the door of his bedroom. The dark beauty came by. The Jew chirped at her. "Pretty tartie!" he called in his luscious voice. "Come inside then. I've got something to show you." The girl passed on, unheeding. The Jew followed her with moist eyes that glistened. A fair chamber-maid emerging from another room winked at Ernie. "She's white," she said, and jerked her head in the direction of the disappearing girl. The chamber-maid was a little cockney from Clapham who had taken to herself the name of Céleste. "None the worse for that, I dare say," said Ernie with unusual acrimony. Céleste flirted on her way. "Tra-la-la!--ta-ta-ta!" she taunted with a little mocking flutter of her fingers. "I suppose you're white too, Ernie Boots." "No," grinned Ernie. "I'm grey." "Baa-baa, black sheep!" mocked the naughty one. "I'd be one or the other. Grey's a silly sort of tint." Then the Jew's sodden voice came wheezing down the corridor. "Here, kid!--You'll do. You're not a bloody iceberg, are you?" Céleste shook her carefully-coiffed head. "I'm engaged, Soly. So sorry!--Go back to bed, there's a dear old thing!" Ernie woke that night in the belief that Ruth was bending over him. "Ruth!" he answered quietly. "Is that you?" But there was no reply. Next morning he took the plunge. "Good morning, Miss," he said as she passed him. The other's curiously impassive face flashed into life. "Good morning, Mr. Boots," she answered in a deep and humming voice like the sound of wings. She said the words quite simply, and he saw she was not chaffing. She honestly believed Boots to be his name. Céleste, dusting in an adjoining room, looked through an open door. "She's an innocent," she said discontentedly. "She knows nothing. Ought to go back to her mother. Madame's got no business to put her here." Ernie went on his way, that deep voice still thrilling in his ears. Thereafter he sought and found chances of serving the girl. One day he came on her tugging a heavy basket of washing along the passage. It was clear that she had been too proud to ask another maid for help, preferring to trust her own magnificent physique to accomplish the task alone. "Let me, Miss," he said. "You take yon end," she answered. "I'll take this. Then atween us like." "Ah," said Ernie, gathering courage. "I see what it is. You think you're the only strong one." Deliberately and without an effort he swung the basket on to his shoulder and bore it jauntily to its destination. Then he slid it down and faced the girl. "Now then!" he cried.