A tinge of pink shot into Salome’s cheeks at this decided counter-order; but she said pleasantly: “Very well. Then, Nellie, you can say to Dick that he may put the doctor’s horses into the barouche and send William to drive them, while he may drive me in the coupé, as usual. True is unwilling that I should ride in the open air while the weather is so cold,” she explained to her companions, as the girl withdrew. Neither lady made any reply; but madam’s lips were tightly compressed, and a frown rested upon her brow; for Salome’s orders were the ones that were to be obeyed rather than hers, after all, and they had been issued with a dignity that nettled her exceedingly. But madam was determined that she would yet assert herself, and the opportunity for a second attempt came sooner than she expected. CHAPTER XI. A STARTLING ENCOUNTER. Nellie had not been gone from the room with her message to the coachman more than ten minutes when the cook presented herself to ask whether she should serve French peas or artichokes with the lamb for dinner. “Are you fond of artichokes?” Salome asked, turning to her husband’s mother. “Yes; but we will have peas to-day,” Madame Winthrop said, addressing the girl rather than answering Salome’s question. “And will they be served with cream, marm?” the cook asked of her young mistress. But before she could reply, the elder woman interposed: “Of course; they are richer and nicer, and should never be served any other way.” Still the girl hesitated and glanced inquiringly at Salome. Now, Salome could not eat cream that had been heated—although she could take it cold—therefore she had never ordered any of her vegetables to be prepared with it. She thought at first that she would say nothing, but let the matter rest and go without her peas for once, although she was exceedingly fond of them. But the same thing was liable to occur again, and, after a moment’s thought, she quietly said, but without the slightest appearance of wishing to thwart her husband’s mother: “You may serve them both ways, if you please, Bridget, for I cannot eat them with cream; and be sure to have the crumbs nicely browned for the soup.” “Yes, marm,” said the woman respectfully, as she left the room. But, once outside the door, she gave vent to a very suggestive chuckle as she remarked in a low voice: “The young one’ll be enough for her, never fear,” and then she went away to the regions below, a broad grin on her Irish face. This is but an example, however, of what Salome had to endure day after day. Her orders were countermanded, her plans continually disarranged by some whim or freak of Madame Winthrop’s or Evelyn’s, both becoming, as time elapsed, more and more aggressive and disagreeable.