The clever maid sidled curiously into the lighted dressing room, and, as soon as she saw the tears in the eyes of Liane and the crimson print on her fair cheek, she jumped to her own conclusions. "You poor, pretty little thing, did Miss Roma fly in a rage and slap your face, too?" she exclaimed compassionately. "Certainly not!" the girl answered, cresting her graceful chestnut-brown head with sudden pride. "Do you think I would allow your mistress to insult me so?" "She would insult you whether you liked it or not," the maid replied tartly. "She has slapped my face several times in her tantrums since I came here, and I would have quit right off, but her mother is an angel, and when I complained to her, the sweet lady gave me some handsome presents and begged me to overlook it, because her daughter was somewhat spoiled by being an only child and an heiress. So I stayed for the kind mother's sake, and if Miss Roma really did strike you in her rage over the cape, let me tell Mrs. Clarke, and she will reward you handsomely to keep silence!" "But I assure you Miss Clarke did not strike me!" Liane protested. "There's the print of her fingers on your face to speak for itself, poor child!" "That mark was on my face when I came," Liane answered, almost inaudibly, out of her keen humiliation. "Oh, I see. What is your name?" "Miss Lester--Liane Lester." "A pretty-sounding name! I've heard of you before, Miss Lester--the lovely sewing girl whose grandmother beats her. All the village knows it and pities you. Why do you stand it? Why don't you run away and get married? You are so lovely that any man might be glad to get you for his bride." The color flamed hotly into Liane's cheek. She was proud, in spite of her poverty, and it chafed her to have her private affairs so freely discussed by Miss Clarke's servant. "Please do not talk to me while I'm sewing," she said firmly, but so gently that the pert maid did not take offense, but slipped away, returning when the cape was nearly done, with a dainty repast on a silver waiter. "Mrs. Clarke sent this with her compliments. She heard about your being up here sewing, and felt so sorry for you." Liane had not tasted food since her meager midday luncheon, but she was too proud to own that she was faint from fasting. "She was very kind, but I--I really am not hungry," she faltered. "But you have not had your tea yet, and one is apt to have a headache without it," urged the tactful maid, and she presently persuaded Liane to eat, although not before the cape was done, so great was her dread of Miss Clarke's coarse anger. The maid had adroitly let Mrs. Clarke know all about Liane, and now she slipped a crisp banknote into her hand, whispering: "Mrs. Clarke sent you this for altering the cape for her daughter." Liane was almost frightened at the new rustling five-dollar bill in her hand. She had never seen more than three dollars at a time before--the amount of her weekly wages from Miss Bray.