"Well, I do do her secretarial work, only, of course, there isn't a great deal of it, so I shop for her as well, and see that things are all right when she gives a party, and - oh, anything that crops up!"

"And what," enquired Mr. Harte politely, "are your hours?"

"I don't have regular hours. I'm supposed to leave at six but Mrs. Haddington likes me to be on tap."

"Does she, indeed? You must be pulling down a colossal screw!"

Beulah gave a rather bitter little laugh. "Unfortunately I don't belong to a Union! I get three pounds ten a week - and quite a number of meals. If another female is wanted, with the family; if not, on a tray in the library. Which I prefer!"

She glanced up, and found that Mr. Harte's very blue eyes were fixed on her face in an uncomfortably searching look.

"Why do you stick it?" he asked. "Your employer, to put it frankly, is a bitch; she treats you like mud; and you're at her beck and call, from morning till midnight. What's the big idea?"

"It suits me," she said evasively. Jobs aren't so easily come by these days." She said, too swiftly changing the subject: "Are you coming to the Bridge-party?"

"Yes, are you?"

"I shall be there, of course. Not playing."

"That goes without saying. Who's going to be there? The usual gang?"

"I think so. Eleven tables, plus one or two people who are coming either as scorers, or just to watch. Lady Nest is bringing her husband, which will make it a red-letter evening. Generally he never comes near Charles Street."

"And who shall blame him? I needn't ask if the dashing Dan Seaton-Carew will be present?"

"Of course he will be. Look here, Timothy, are you - do you imagine you've any cause to be jealous of him? Because, if so, get rid of the idea! I thought at first that there was some kind of a liaison between him and Mrs. Haddington, but I seem to have been wrong: it's Cynthia he's after."