For the first time there was in it a dash of "I-don't-care-what-you-think-I-shall-do-what-I-like!" And for the first time she addressed me without any hesitation by the name that I, Beatrice Lovelace, have taken as my _nom de guerre_. "Oh, Smith," said Million--Miss Million, "I sent for you because I want you to pour out the tea for us. Pourin' out is a thing I always did 'ate--hate." "Yes, Miss," I said. And I turned to obey orders at the tea-table. As meekly as if I'd been put into the world for that purpose alone, I began to pour out tea for Miss Million and her guests. The tea-table was set in the alcove of the big window, so that I had to turn my back upon the trio. But I could feel eyes upon my back. Well! I didn't mind. It was a gracefully fitted back at last, in that perfectly cut, thin black gown, with white muslin apron-strings tied in an impertinent little bow. There was a silence in the room where the hostess had been laughing and the principal guest--I suppose she looked upon this Mr. Burke as the principal guest--had been purring away to her in that soft Irish voice of his. I filled the cups and turned--to meet the honest sunburnt face of the other visitor, Mr. Reginald Brace. He'd got up and taken a quick step towards me. I never saw anything quite so blankly bewildered as his expression as he tried hard not to stare at that little white muslin butterfly cap in my hair. Of course! This was his first intimation that I, who had been Million's mistress, was now Miss Million's maid! In a dazed voice he spoke to me: "Can't I----Do let me help you----" "Oh, thank you," I said quietly and businesslikely. "Will you take this to Miss Million, please?" He handed the cups to the others, and I followed and handed the cream, milk, and sugar. It felt like acting in a scene out of some musical comedy, at the Gaiety, say. And I daresay it looked like it, what with the pretty, flower-filled sitting-room, and Million's French white muslin with the grey-blue sash, and my stage-soubrette livery, and the glossily groomed Mr. Burke as the young hero! I surprised a very summing-up glance from those black-lashed blue eyes of his as I waited on him. How is it that every syllable spoken in a certain kind of Irish voice seems to mean a compliment, even if it's only "thank you" for the sugar? I went back and stood as silent and self-effacing as a statue, or a really well-trained servant, by the tea-things, while the Honourable James Burke went on improving the shining hour with his millionaire hostess. This was the sort of conversation that had been going on, evidently, from the start: "Isn't it an extraordinary thing, now, that I should be sitting here, cosily talking to you like this, when just at this same time last year, my dear Miss Million, I was sitting and talking to that dear old uncle of yours in Chicago?" he said. "Every afternoon I used to go and sit by his bedside----"