“Well, it made me sick at heart, Miss Neily.  Her with her hat and her bag and her talk about twins—­and no consideration for you.  Well, I’ll go on.  ‘You’re a clever woman, aren’t you?’ says she —­the impudence!  ‘I can see through a millstone as far as most,’ says I—­I wouldn’t put up with her sauce.  ‘Well!’ says she, ’you can see that Annie the housemaid’s leaving, too.’  ’Has her sister got twins as well?’ says I and looked at her.  ‘No,’ says she as bold as brass, ’but Annie’s got a pain in her side and she’s feared it’s appendycitis—­so she’s leaving to go back to her family.’  ‘Oh,’ says I, ‘and what about Miss Van Gorder?’ ’I’m sorry for Miss Van Gorder,’ says she—­the falseness of her!—­’But she’ll have to do the best she can for twins and appendycitis is acts of God and not to be put aside for even the best of wages.’  ’Is that so?’ says I and with that I left her, for I knew if I listened to her a minute longer I’d be giving her bonnet a shake and that wouldn’t be respectable.  So there you are, Miss Neily, and that’s the gist of the matter.”

Miss Cornelia laughed.  “Lizzie—­you’re unique,” she said.  “But I’m glad you didn’t give her bonnet a shake—­though I’ve no doubt you could.”

“Humph!” said Lizzie snorting, the fire of battle in her eye.  “And is it any Black Irish from Ulster would play impudence to a Kerrywoman without getting the flat of a hand in—­but that’s neither here nor there.  The truth of it is, Miss Neily,” her voice grew solemn, “it’s my belief they’re scared—­both of them—­by the haunts and the banshees here—­and that’s all.”

“If they are they’re very silly,” said Miss Cornelia practically.  “No, they may have heard of a better place, though it would seem as if when one pays the present extortionate wages and asks as little as we do here—­but it doesn’t matter.  If they want to go, they may.  Am I ready, Lizzie?”

“You look like an angel, ma’am,” said Lizzie, clasping her hands.

“Well, I feel very little like one,” said Miss Cornelia, rising.  “As cook and housemaid may discover before I’m through with them.  Send them into the livingroom, Lizzie, when I’ve gone down.  I’ll talk to them there.”

An hour or so later, Miss Cornelia sat in a deep chintz chair in the comfortable living-room of the Fleming house going through the pile of letters which Lizzie’s news of domestic revolt had prevented her reading earlier.  Cook and housemaid had come and gone—­civil enough, but so obviously determined upon leaving the house at once that Miss Cornelia had sighed and let them go, though not without caustic comment.  Since then, she had devoted herself to calling up various employment agencies without entirely satisfactory results.  A new cook and housemaid were promised for the end of the week—­but for the next three days the Japanese butler, Billy, and Lizzie between them would have to bear the brunt of the service.  Oh, yes—­and then there’s Dale’s gardener, if she gets one, thought Miss, Cornelia.  “I wish he could cook—­but I don’t suppose gardeners can—­and Billy’s a treasure.  Still, its inconvenient—­now, stop—­Cornelia Van Gorder—­you were asking for an adventure only this morning and the moment the littlest sort of one comes along, you want to crawl out of it.”