“From another admirer of 'Hiawatha.'” There could be no doubt that Brian had written that. Had he cared for her so long? Had he indeed loved her all these years? She was interrupted by the maid bringing in the tea. “Mr. Bircham's boy is here, miss, and if you please, can cook speak to you a minute?” Erica put down the Longfellow and rolled up “Cremation.” “I'm sure she's going to give warning!” she thought to herself. “What a day to choose for it! That's what I call an anti-climax.” Her forebodings proved all too true. In a minute more in walked the cook, with the sort of conscious dignity of bearing which means “I am no longer in your service.” “If you please, miss, I wish to leave this day month.” “I shall be sorry to lose you,” said Erica; “what are your reasons for leaving?” “I've not been used, miss, to families as is in the law courts. I've been used to the best West End private families.” “I don't see how it can affect you,” said Erica, feeling, in spite of her annoyance, much inclined to laugh. “Indeed, miss, and it do. There's not a tradesman's boy but has his joke or his word about Mr. Raeburn,” said the cook in an injured voice. “And last Sunday when I went to the minister to show my lines, he said a member ought to be ashamed to take service with a hatheist and that I was in an 'ouse of 'ell. Those was his very words, miss, an 'ouse of 'ell, he said.” “Then it was exceedingly impertinent of him,” said Erica, “for he knew nothing whatever about it.” After that there was nothing for it but to accept the resignation, and to begin once more the weary search for that rara avis, “a good plain cook.” Her interview had only just ended when she heard the front door open. She listened intently, but apparently it was only Tom; he came upstairs singing a refrain with which just then she quite agreed: “LAW, law Rhymes very well with jaw, If you're fond of litigation, And sweet procrastination, Latin and botheration, I advise you to go to law.” “Halloo!” he exclaimed. “So you did get home all right? I like your way of acting Casabianca! The chieftain sent me tearing out after you, and when I got there, you had vanished!” “Brian came up just then,” said Erica, “and I thought it better not to wait. Oh, here comes father.” Raeburn entered as she spoke. No one who saw him would have guessed that he was an overworked, overworried man, for his face was a singularly peaceful one, serene with the serenity of a strong nature convinced of its own integrity. “Got some tea for us, Eric?” he asked, throwing himself back in a chair beside the fire.