Of the comfort, the beauty, and the harmony of all this, however,

Rachael saw and felt nothing. Her brief interview with her husband

had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She felt neither courage nor

appetite for the new day. Annie carried away the blue bowl of

porridge untouched, reporting to Ellie: "She don't want no eggs,

nor sausage, nor waffles--nothing more!"

Ellie, the cook, who boarded a four-year-old daughter with the

gardener and his wife, at the gate-lodge, was deep in the robust

charms of this young person, and not sorry to be uninterrupted.

"Thank goodness she don't," she said. "Do you want a little waffle

all for yourself, Lovey? Do you want to pour the batter into Ma's

iron yourself? Pin a napkin round her, Annie! An' then you can eat

it out on the steps, darlin', because it just seems to be a shame

to spend a minute indoors when God sends us a mornin' like this!"

"It must have been grand, walking to church this morning, all

right," said Alfred, who was busy with golf sticks and emery on

the vine-shaded porch.

"It was!" said Ellie and Annie together, and Annie added: "Rose

from Bowditch's was there, and she says she can't get away but

about once a month. She always has to wait on the children's

breakfast at eight, and then down comes the others at half-past

nine, or later, the way she never has a moment until it's too late

for High! I told her she had a right to look for another place!"

"There's worse places than this," Ellie said, watching her small

daughter begin on her waffle. A general nodding of heads in a

contented silence indicated that there was some happiness in the

Breckenridge household even though it was below stairs.

Rachael's sombre revery was presently interrupted by the smooth

crushing of wheels on the pebbled drive and the announcement of

Mrs. Haviland, who followed her name promptly into the breakfast-

room. A fine, large, beautifully gowned woman, with a prayer book

in her white-gloved hand, and a veil holding her close, handsome

spring hat in place, she glanced at the coffee and hot bread with

superiority only possible to a person whose own breakfast is

several hours past.

"Rachael, you lazy woman!" said Florence Haviland lightly,

breathing deep, as a heavy woman in tight corsets must perforce

breathe on a warm spring morning. "Do you realize that it's almost

eleven o'clock?"

"Perfectly!" Mrs. Breckenridge said. "I slept until nine, and felt

quite proud of myself to think that I had got through so much of

the day!"

Mrs. Haviland gave her a sharp look in answer, not quite

disapproving, yet far from pleased.




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