She hesitated. And we have always heard--have we not, reader?--that the woman who hesitates is lost. She remembered that her stock of pins and needles and tapes and buttons needed replenishing. Why not embrace this excellent opportunity for the purpose? She might easily do so, and Mr. Delaney be none the wiser, and no harm done. She would take care that the harmless peddler did not penetrate beyond the kitchen. The cheery, seductive voice of the person outside sounded pleasantly in her hearing. She felt that she would be all the better for a little human contact with that world from which she was so closely secluded. She softly turned the key and opened the door, meaning to have some little colloquy with the peddler before she admitted her; but that worthy frustrated her intention by immediately stepping across the threshold, with the proverbial impudence of the class. “So you thought better of your first intentions, did you?” she said, genially, to the astonished mistress of the kitchen. “Second thoughts are best, aren’t they? Well, you were wise to let me in. I shall sell you the biggest bargain of the season.” And then she laughed, and set her basket down upon the floor, and warmed her brown fingers by the stove. Mrs. Griffin was dumfounded by the ease, not to say impudence, of the female peddler, who already had taken a seat and was gazing about the large apartment with careless curiosity. “You must please not to laugh so loud,” she said. “If my master hears you he will come down and turn you out. I should not have let you in anyhow, only that I needed some things in your line. Strangers are not allowed in here. You shouldn’t have entered the grounds.” “I did not know there were any orders against it. You see, I’m a stranger about here, and seeing such a fine large house I naturally thought to myself, ‘Here’s the place to sell my nice goods to the ladies.’ But if there’s any offense, ma’am, I’ll humbly take my leave,” said this artful old woman, beginning to replace the tempting things she had drawn from her heavy basket. “Well, well, let me have my buttons and things first,” said Mrs. Griffin, who had not expected to be so soon taken at her word. “You may show me your things, only be quiet about it. I shouldn’t care to have my master disturbed.” “And your mistress, hey? Wouldn’t she like to buy some of my pretty laces?” “There isn’t any mistress. There’s only my master and me. I’m cook and housekeeper both,” Mrs. Griffin replied, as she poised a black lace cap on her fingers, and mentally wondered if it wouldn’t be becoming to her. They had the usual haggling, the old woman good-humoredly putting down her goods to Mrs. Griffin’s own prices, remarking as each new purchase was laid on the pile at the housekeeper’s elbow: “I told you I would sell you the biggest bargain of the season. They don’t call me Cheap Jane for nothing!” “Is that your name? How funny!” said the housekeeper, laughing.