"Be seated," said Letitia, with much unnecessary dignity. "I dare say you have heard of the Society for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Cooks in New York City," she began chastely; "you must have read of the good work it is doing in the interests of those poor, downtrodden girls who seek only to earn a living in the houses of the rich and prosperous. The good work the society is doing, Mrs. Fairfax--by-the-by, I obtained your name at Mrs. Greaseheaver's intelligence office--is beyond all question. I am merely a missionary, aiming by means of heart-to-heart talks to awaken an interest, a human interest, in the sad lives of domestic servants, so that a few rays of sunlight may ultimately permeate their dull and wretched days." Letitia looked pleadingly at me, as I moved uneasily. She laid her hand, as though unconsciously, upon an Indian paper-cutter in my vicinity. The edges were very sharp. "My heart aches for them," continued Miss Perfoozle feelingly, "I might almost say that it bleeds. I listen to their stories day by day, in tears--positively tears, Mrs. Fairfax. It is perhaps silly of me to give way--I know I am a foolish little thing--but I can not help it. I am very, very susceptible. I am devoting my life to the glorious task of improving their state. By the distribution of tracts, we reach the poor girls themselves. They come to us; we board and bed them, and we endeavor to place them with ladies whose antecedents we have diligently investigated." "You have an intelligence office, then?" asked Letitia naïvely. "Ah, do not say it," implored Miss Perfoozle, with ten black _glacé_ fingers outstretched like claws. "The term has passed into such disrepute, dear Mrs. Fairfax. Naturally our society has to be supported, though most of the ladies comprising its members would gladly give their little all to the beautiful cause. My little all, I frequently contribute." "Then your society depends upon these little alls?" I asked, peacefully resolved to probe the Perfoozle as a pastime. "It could not be," she replied piously. "We charge the girls we place a percentage of their first salary--merely a nominal percentage, dear Mrs. Fairfax. We seek to place them with reputable, God-fearing people--Christians preferred, though we have no rooted objections to Jews. Our society has decided that the question of domestic help _is_ a question merely because most employers are cruel and abusive. Treat the employers and not the girls. That, dear Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax, is the motto of the Society for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Cooks in New York City." Letitia withdrew her hand from the Indian paper-knife, after pushing it in my direction. I gleaned from that trifling fact that Letitia was quite willing to let me do my worst. Her face flushed as she listened to the dulcet utterances of the sweetly insolent Perfoozle. "If I mistake not," continued the spinster, "you employed a worker calling herself Mrs. McCaffrey?"