A Woman Intervenes

William had a room in the house which was partly sitting-room and partly study, and there he kept many of his papers. He was supposed to ponder over matters of business in this room, and it gave him a good excuse for arriving late at the office in the morning. He had been sitting up into the small hours, he would tell his uncle; although he would sometimes vary the excuse by saying that it was quieter at home than in the City, and that he had spent the early part of the morning in reading documents.

The first time William got an answer from the new housemaid was when he expressed his anxiety about the care of this room. He said that servants generally were very careless, and he hoped she would attend to things, and see that his papers were kept nicely in order. This, without glancing up at him, the girl promised to do, and William thereafter found his apartment kept with a scrupulous neatness which would have delighted the most particular of men.

One morning when he was sitting by his table, enjoying an after-breakfast cigarette, the door opened softly, and the new housemaid entered. Seeing him there, she seemed confused, and was about to retire, when William, throwing his cigarette away, sprang to his feet.

'No, don't go,' he said; 'I was just about to ring.'

The girl paused with her hand on the door.

'Yes,' he continued, 'I was just going to ring, but you have saved me the trouble; but, by the way, what is your name?'

'Susy, if you please, sir,' replied the girl modestly.

'Ah well, Susy, just shut the door for a moment.'

The girl did so, but evidently with some reluctance.

'Well, Susy,' said William jauntily, 'I suppose that I'm not the first one who has told you that you are very pretty.'

'Oh, sir!' said Susy, blushing and looking down on the carpet.

'Yes, Susy, and you take such good care of this room that I want to thank you for it,' continued William.

Here he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and drew out half a sovereign.

'Here, my girl, is something for your trouble. Keep this for yourself.'

'Oh, I couldn't think of taking money, sir,' said the girl, drawing back. 'I couldn't indeed, sir!'

'Nonsense!' said William; 'isn't it enough?'

'Oh, it's more than enough. Miss Longworth pays me well for what I do, sir, and it's only my duty to keep things tidy.'

'Yes, Susy, that is very true; but very few of us do our duty, you know, in this world.'

'But we ought to, sir,' said the girl, in a tone of quiet reproof that made the young man smile.

'Perhaps,' said he; 'but then, you see, we are not all pretty and good, like you. I'm sorry you won't take the money. I hope you are not offended at me for offering it;' and William adjusted his eye-glass, looking his sweetest at the young person standing before him.

'Oh no, sir,' she said, 'I'm not at all offended, and I thank you very much, very much indeed, sir, and I would like to ask you a question, if you wouldn't think me too bold.'

'Bold?' cried William. 'Why, I think you are the shyest little woman I have ever seen. I'll be very pleased to answer any question you may ask me. What is it?'

'You see, sir, I've got a little money of my own.'

'Well, I declare, Susy, this is very interesting. I'd no idea you were an heiress.'

'Oh, not an heiress, sir—far from it. It's only a little matter of four or five hundred pounds, sir,' said Susy, dropping him an awkward little curtsy, which he thought most charming. 'The money is in the bank, and earns no interest, and I thought I would like to invest it where it would bring in something.'

'Certainly, Susy, and a most laudable desire on your part. Was it about that you wished to question me?'

'Yes, if you please, sir. I saw this paper on your desk, and I thought I would ask you if it would be safe for me to put my money in these mines, sir. Seeing the paper here, I supposed you had something to do with it.'

William whistled a long incredulous note, and said:

'So you have been reading my papers, have you, miss?'

'Oh no, sir,' said the girl, looking up at him with startled eyes. 'I only saw the name Canadian Mica-mine on this, and the paper said it would pay ten per cent., and I thought if you had anything to do with it that my money would be quite safe.'

'Oh, that goes without saying,' said William; 'but if I were you, my dear, I should not put my money in the mica-mine.'

'Oh, then, you haven't anything to do with the mine, sir?'

'Yes, Susy, I have. You know, fools build houses, and wise men live in them.'

'So I have heard,' said Susy thoughtfully.

'Well, two fools are building the house that we will call the Canadian Mica-mine, and I am the wise man, don't you see, Susy?' said the young man, with a sweet smile.

'I'm afraid I don't quite understand, sir.'

'I don't suppose, Susy,' replied the young man, with a laugh, 'that there are many who do; but I think in a month's time I shall own this mica-mine, and then, my dear, if you still want to own a share or two, I shall be very pleased to give you a few without your spending any money at all.'

'Oh, would you, sir?' cried Susy in glad surprise; 'and who owns the mine now?'

'Oh, two fellows; you wouldn't know their names if I told them to you.'

'And are they going to sell it to you, sir?'

William laughed heartily, and said:

'Oh no! they themselves will be sold.'

'But how can that be if they don't own the mine? You see, I'm only a very stupid girl, and don't understand business. That's why I asked you about my money.'

'I don't suppose you know what an option is, do you, Susy?'

'No, sir, I don't; I never heard of it before.'

'Well, these two young men have what is called an option on the mine, which is to say that they are to pay a certain sum of money at a certain time and the mine is theirs; but if they don't pay the certain sum at the certain time, the mine isn't theirs.'

'And won't they pay the money, sir?'

'No, Susy, they will not, because, don't you know, they haven't got it. Then these two fools will be sold, for they think they are going to get the money, and they are not.'

'And you have the money to buy the mine when the option runs out, sir.'

'By Jove!' said William in surprise, 'you have a prodigious head for business, Susy; I never saw anyone pick it up so fast. You will have to take lessons from me, and go on the market and speculate yourself.'

'Oh, I should like to do that, sir—I should indeed.'

'Well,' said William kindly, 'whenever you have time, come to me, and I will give you lessons.'

The young man approached her, holding out his hand, but the girl slipped away from him and opened the door.

'I think,' he said in a whisper, 'that you might give me a kiss after all this valuable information.'

'Oh, Mr. William!' cried Susy, horrified.

He stepped forward and tried to catch her, but the girl was too nimble for him, and sprang out into the passage.

'Surely,' protested William, 'this is getting information under false pretences; I expected my fee, you know.'

'And you shall have it,' said the girl, laughing softly, 'when I get ten per cent. on my money.'

'Egad!' said William to himself as he entered his room again, 'I will see that you get it. She's as clever an outside broker.'

When young Longworth had left for his office, Susy swept and dusted out his room again, and then went downstairs.

'Where's the mistress?' she asked a fellow-servant.

'In the library,' was the answer, and to the library Susy went, entering the room without knocking, much to the amazement of Edith Longworth, who sat near the window with a book in her lap. But further surprise was in store for the lady of the house. The housemaid closed the door, and then, selecting a comfortable chair, threw herself down into it, exclaiming:

'Oh dear me! I'm so tired.'

'Susy,' said Miss Longworth, 'what is the meaning of this?'

'It means, mum,' said Susy, 'that I'm going to chuck it.'

'Going to what?' asked Miss Longworth, amazed.

'Going to chuck it. Didn't you understand? Going to give up my situation. I'm tired of it.'

'Very well,' said the young woman, rising, 'you may give notice in the proper way. You have no right to come into this room in this impudent manner. Be so good as to go to your own room.'

'My!' said Susy, 'you can do the dignified! I must practise and see if I can accomplish an attitude like that. If you were a little prettier, Miss Longworth, I should call that striking;' and the girl threw back her head and laughed.

Something in the laugh aroused Miss Longworth's recollection, and a chill of fear came over her; but, looking at the girl again, she saw she was mistaken. Susy jumped up, still laughing, and drew a pin from the little cap she wore, flinging it on the chair; then she pulled off her wig, and stood before Edith Longworth her natural self.

'Miss Brewster!' gasped the astonished Edith. 'What are you doing in my house in that disguise?'

'Oh,' said Jennie, 'I'm an amateur housemaid. How do you think I have acted the part? Now sit down, Miss Dignity, and I will tell you something about your own family. I thought you were a set of rogues, and now I can prove it.'

'Will you leave my house this instant?' cried Edith, in anger. 'I shall not listen to you.'

'Oh yes, you will,' said Jennie, 'for I shall follow your own example, and not let you out until you do hear what I have to tell you.'

Saying which the amateur housemaid skipped nimbly to the door, and placed her back against it.

CHAPTER XXVII

Jennie Brewster stood with her back to the door, a sweet smile on her face.

'This is my day for acting, Miss Longworth. I think I did the rôle of housemaid so well that it deceived several members of this family. I am now giving an imitation of yourself in your thrilling drama, "All at Sea." Don't you think I do it most admirably?'

'Yes,' said Edith, sitting down again. 'I wonder you did not adopt the stage as a profession.'

'I have often thought of doing so, but journalism is more exciting.'

'Perhaps. Still, it has its disappointments. When I gave my thrilling drama, as you call it, on shipboard, I had my stage accessories arranged to better advantage than you have now.'

'Do you mean the putting off of the boat?'

'No; I mean that the electric button was under my hand—it was impossible for you to ring for help. Now, while you hold the door, you cannot stop me from ringing, for the bell-rope is here beside me.'

'Yes, that is a disadvantage, I admit. Do you intend to ring, then, and have me turned out?'

'I don't think that will be necessary. I imagine you will go quietly.'

'You are a pretty clever girl, Miss Longworth. I wish I liked you, but I don't, so we won't waste valuable time deploring that fact. Have you no curiosity to hear what I was going to tell you?'

'Not the slightest; but there is one thing I should like to know.'

'Oh, is there? Well, that's human, at any rate. What do you wish to know?'

'You came here well recommended. How did you know I wanted a housemaid, and were your testimonials–'

Edith paused for a word, which Jennie promptly supplied.

'Forged? Oh dear no! There is no necessity for doing anything criminal in this country, if you have the money. I didn't forge them—I bought them. Didn't you write to any of the good ladies who stood sponsor for me?'

'Yes, and received most flattering accounts of you.'

'Certainly. That was part of the contract. Oh, you can do anything with money in London; it is a most delightful town. Then, as for knowing there was a vacancy, that also was money. I bribed the other housemaid to leave.'

'I see. And what object had you in all this?'

Jennie Brewster laughed—the same silvery laugh that had charmed William Longworth an hour or two before, a laugh that sometimes haunted Wentworth's memory in the City. She left her sentinel-like position at the door and threw herself into a chair.

'Miss Longworth,' she said, 'you are not consistent. You first pretend that you have no curiosity to hear what I have to say, then you ask me exactly what I was going to tell you. Of course, you are dying to know why I am here; you wouldn't be a woman if you weren't. Now, I've changed my mind, and I don't intend to tell you. I will say, though, that my object in coming here was, first, to find out for myself how servants are treated in this country. You see, my sympathies are all with the women who work, and not with women—well, like yourself, for instance.'

'Yes, I think you said that once before. And how do we treat our servants?'

'So far as my experience goes, very well indeed.'

'It is most gratifying to hear you say this. I was afraid we might not have met with your approval. And now, where shall I send your month's money, Miss Brewster?'

Jennie Brewster leaned back in her chair, her eyes all but closed; an angry light shooting from them reminded Edith of her glance of hatred on board the steamship. A rich warm colour overspread her fair face, and her lips closed tightly. There was a moment's silence, and then Jennie's indignation passed away as quickly as it came. She laughed, with just a touch of restraint in her tone.

'You can say an insulting thing more calmly and sweetly than anyone I ever met before; I envy you that. When I say anything low down and mean, I say it in anger, and my voice has a certain amount of acridity in it. I can't purr like a cat and scratch at the same time—I wish I could.'

'Is it an insult to offer you the money you have earned?'

'Yes, it is, and you knew it was when you spoke. You don't understand me a little bit.'

'Is it necessary that I should?'

'I don't suppose you think it is,' said Jennie meditatively, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm. 'That is where our point of view differs. I like to know everything. It interests me to learn what people think and talk about, and somehow it doesn't seem to matter to me who the people are, for I was even more interested in your butler's political opinions than I was in Lord Frederick Bingham's. They are both Conservatives, but Lord Freddie seems shaky in his views, for you can argue him down in five minutes, but the butler is as steadfast as a rock. I do admire that butler. I hope you will break the news of my departure gently to him, for he proposed to me, and he has not yet had his answer.'

'There is still time,' said Edith, smiling in spite of herself. 'Shall I ring for him?'

'Please do not. I want to avoid a painful scene, because he is so sure of himself, and never dreams of a refusal. It is such a pity, too, for the butler is my ideal of what a member of the aristocracy should be. His dignity is positively awe-inspiring; while Lord Freddie is such a simple, good-natured, everyday young fellow, that if I imported him to the States I am sure no one would believe he was a real lord. With the butler it would be so different,' added Jennie, with a deep sigh.

'It is too bad that you cannot exchange the declaration of the butler for one from Lord Frederick.'

'Too bad!' cried Jennie, looking with wide-open eyes at the girl before her; 'why, bless you! I had a proposal from Lord Freddie two weeks before I ever saw the butler. I see you don't believe a word I say. Well, you ask Lord Freddie. I'll introduce you, and tell him you don't believe he asked me to be Lady Freddie, if that's the title. He'll look sheepish, but he won't deny it. You see, when I found I was going to stay in England for a time, I wrote to the editor of the Argus to get me a bunch of letters of introduction and send them over, as I wanted particularly to study the aristocracy. So he sent them, and, I assure you, I found it much more difficult to get into your servants' hall than I did into the halls of the nobility—besides, it costs less to mix with the Upper Ten.'

Edith sat in silence, looking with amazed interest at the girl, who talked so rapidly that there was sometimes difficulty in following what she said.

'No, Lord Freddie is not half so condescending as the butler, neither is his language so well chosen; but then, I suppose, the butler's had more practice, for Freddie is very young. I am exceedingly disappointed with the aristocracy. They are not nearly so haughty as I had imagined them to be. But what astonishes me in this country is the way you women spoil the men. You are much too good to them. You pet them and fawn on them, and naturally they get conceited. It is such a pity, too; for they are nice fellows, most of them. It is the same everywhere I've been—servants' hall included. Why, when you meet a young couple, of what you are pleased to call the "lower classes," walking in the Park, the man hangs down his head as he slouches along, but the girl looks defiantly at you, as much as to say, "I've got him. Bless him! What have you to say about it?" while the man seems to be ashamed of himself, and evidently feels that he's been had. Now, a man should be made to understand that you're doing him a great favour when you give him a civil word. That's the proper state of mind to keep a man in, and then you can do what you like with him. I generally make him propose, so as to get it over before any real harm's done, and to give an artistic finish to the episode. After that we can be excellent friends, and have a jolly time. That's the way I did with Lord Freddie. Now, here am I, chattering away as if I were paid for talking instead of writing. Why do you look at me so? Don't you believe what I tell you?'

'Yes, I believe all you say. What I can't understand is, why a bright girl like you should enter a house and,—well, do what you have done here, for instance.'

'Why shouldn't I? I am after accurate information. I get it in my own way. Your writers here tell how the poor live, and that sort of thing. They enter the houses of the poor quite unblushingly, and print their impressions of the poverty-stricken homes. Now, why should the rich man be exempt from a similar investigation?'

'In either case it is the work of a spy.'

'Yes; but a spy is not a dishonourable person—at least, he need not be. I saw a monument in Westminster Abbey to a man who was hanged as a spy. A spy must be brave; he must have nerve, caution, and resource. He sometimes does more for his country than a whole regiment. Oh, there are worse persons than spies in this world.'

'I suppose there are, still–'

'Yes, I know. It is easy for persons with plenty of money to moralize on the shortcomings of others. I'll tell you a secret. I'm writing a book, and if it's a success, then good-bye to journalism. I don't like the spy business myself any too well; I'm afraid England is contaminating me, and if I stayed here a few years I might degenerate so far as to think your newspapers interesting. By the way, have you seen Mr. Wentworth lately?'

Edith hesitated a moment, and at last answered:

'Yes, I saw him a day or two ago.'

'Was he looking well? I think I ought to write him a note of apology for all the anxiety I caused him on board ship. You may not believe it, but I have actually had some twinges of conscience over that episode. I suppose that's why I partially forgave you for stopping the cablegram.'

Edith Longworth was astonished at herself for giving the young woman information about Wentworth, but she gave it, and the amateur housemaid departed in peace, saying, by way of farewell:

'I'm not going to write up your household, after all.'

CHAPTER XXVIII

One day when Kenyon entered the office, the clerk said to him:

'That young gentleman has been here twice to see you. He said it was very important, sir.'

'What young gentleman?'

'The gentleman—here is his card—who belongs to the Financial Field, sir.'

'Did he leave any message?'

'Yes, sir; he said he would call again at three o'clock.'

'Very good,' said Kenyon; and he began composing his address to the proposed subscribers.

At three o'clock the smooth, oily person from the Financial Field put in an appearance.

'Ah, Mr. Kenyon,' he said, 'I am glad to meet you. I called in twice, but had not the good fortune to find you in. Can I see you in private for a moment?'

'Yes,' answered Kenyon. 'Come into the directors' room;' and into the directors room they went, Kenyon closing the door behind them.

'Now,' said the representative of the Financial Field, 'I have brought you a proof of the editorial we propose using, which I am desired by the proprietor to show you, so that it may be free, if possible, from any error. We are very anxious to have things correct in the Financial Field;' and with this he handed to John a long slip of paper with a column of printed matter upon it.

The article was headed, 'The Canadian Mica Mining Company, Limited.' It went on to show what the mine had been, what it had done, and what chances there were for investors getting a good return for their money by buying the shares. John read it through carefully.

'That is a very handsome article,' he said; 'and it is without an error, so far as I can see.'

'I am glad you think so,' replied the young gentleman, folding up the proof and putting it in his inside pocket. 'Now, as I said before, although I am not the advertising canvasser of the Financial Field, I thought I would see you with reference to an advertisement for the paper.'

'Well, you know, we have not had a meeting of the proposed stockholders yet, and therefore are not in a position to give any advertisements regarding the mine. I have no doubt advertisements will be given, and, of course, your paper will be remembered among the rest.'

'Ah,' said the young man, 'that is hardly satisfactory to us. We have a vacant half-page for Monday, the very best position in the paper, which the proprietor thought you would like to secure.'

'As I said a moment ago, we are not in a position to secure it. It is premature to talk of advertising at the present state of affairs.'

'I think, you know, it will be to your interest to take the half-page. The price is three hundred pounds, and besides that amount we should like to have some shares in the company.'

'Do you mean three hundred pounds for one insertion of the advertisement?'

'Yes.'

'Doesn't that strike you as being a trifle exorbitant? Your paper has a comparatively limited circulation, and they do not ask us such a price even in the large dailies.'

'Ah, my dear sir, the large dailies are quite different. They have a tremendous circulation, it is true, but it is not the kind of circulation we have. No other paper circulates so largely among investors as the Financial Field. It is read by exactly the class of people you desire to reach, and I may say that, except through the Financial Field, you cannot get at some of the best men in the City.'

'Well, admitting all that, as I have said once or twice, we are not yet in a position to give an advertisement.'

'Then, I am very sorry to say that we cannot, on Monday, publish the article I have shown you.'

'Very well; I cannot help it. You are not compelled to print it unless you wish. I am not sure, either, that publishing the article on Monday would do us any good. It would be premature, as I say. We are not yet ready to court publicity until we have had our first meeting of proposed stockholders.'

'When is your first meeting of stockholders?'

'On Monday, at three o'clock.'

'Very well, we could put that announcement in another column, and I am sure you would find the attendance at your meeting would be very largely and substantially increased.'

'Possibly; but I decline to do anything till after the meeting.'

'I think you would find it pay you extremely well to take that half-page.'

'I am not questioning the fact at all. I am merely saying what I have said to everyone else, that we are not ready to consider advertising.'

'I am sorry we cannot come to an arrangement, Mr. Kenyon—very sorry indeed;' and, saying this, he took another proof-sheet out of his pocket, which he handed to Kenyon. 'If we cannot come to an understanding, the manager has determined to print this, instead of the article I showed you. Would you kindly glance over it, because we should like to have it as correct as possible.'