"Ah, Burton, my dear, you take these things too seriously," replied Mrs. Falkener. "A little trouble with the servants--an everyday occurrence in a woman's life. You of the stronger sex must not let it worry you so much. When you've kept house as many years as I have, you'll learn that the great thing is to be firm from the beginning. That's the only criticism I could make of you, Burt, a little weak, a little weak." Tucker here rose, pressing his hand over his eyes. "I think, if you don't mind, I won't go," he said. "I've a slight headache. Oh, nothing much, but I'll lunch quietly here, if you'll let me--a slice of cold meat and a glass of sherry is all I shall require." If Crane were weak, he did not look so at this moment. "I am sorry, Solon," he answered, "but it would be very much more convenient, if you went with us." He had no intention of leaving Tucker alone in the house with Jane-Ellen, while Smithfield was scouring the countryside for fresh servants. "I'm not thinking so much of myself," said Tucker, "but of you. I fear I should not be much of an addition to the party." "But I think of you, Tuck," answered his host. "What in the world would there be for you to do at home, except talk to the cook?" Tucker said, rather ungraciously, that of course he would go if Crane wished him to, but that-- Crane, however, did not allow him to finish his sentence. "Thank you," he said briskly. "That will be delightful. We shall be starting at half-past twelve." IX ELIOT'S large library, to which Crane and his party were led on their arrival, looked as only a room can look which has been occupied for several hours by a number of idle men. All the sofa cushions were on the floor, all the newspapers were on the sofas, cigarette ashes were everywhere, and the air was heavy with a combination of wood and tobacco smoke, everybody's hair was ruffled, as if they had all been sitting on the back of their heads, and Eliot, himself, now standing commandingly on the hearth-rug, was saying: "Yes, and he did not have a sound leg when he bought him, and that must have been in 1909, for I remember it was the last year I went to Melton--" He broke off reluctantly to greet his guests. Lefferts, who looked peculiarly neat and fresh among his companions, approached Burton, who was beside Mrs. Falkener. "They have been talking for three hours," he observed, "about a splint on the nigh foreleg of a gray horse that doesn't belong to any of them. Sit down, Mrs. Falkener, and let us have a little rational conversation. Doesn't that idea attract you?" "Not particularly, since you ask me," replied Mrs. Falkener, not deigning even to look at the poet, but sweeping her head about slowly as if scanning vast horizons. "The rational doesn't attract you," Lefferts went on cheerfully. "Well, then we must try something else. How about the fantastic-sardonical, or the comic-fantastical, or even better, the--"