No, it was on her back; but Clara’s was identical.

In her excitement, Rosa pinched Staines, and with her nose, that went like a water-wagtail, pointed out the malefactor.  Then she whispered, “Look!  How dare she?  My very jacket!  Earrings too, and brooches, and dresses her hair like mine.”

“Well, never mind,” whispered Staines.  “Sunday is her day.  We have got all the week to shine.  There, don’t look at her—­’From all evil speaking, lying, and slandering’”—­

“I can’t keep my eyes off her.”

“Attend to the Litany.  Do you know, this is really a beautiful composition?”

“I’d rather do the work fifty times over myself.”

“Hush! people will hear you.”

When they walked home after church, Staines tried to divert her from the consideration of her wrongs; but no—­all other topics were too flat by comparison.

She mourned the hard fate of mistresses—­unfortunate creatures that could not do without servants.

“Is not that a confession that servants are good, useful creatures, with all their faults?  Then as to the mania for dress, why, that is not confined to them.  It is the mania of the sex.  Are you free from it?”

“No, of course not.  But I am a lady, if you please.”

“Then she is your intellectual inferior, and more excusable.  Anyway, it is wise to connive at a thing we can’t help.”

“What keep her, after this? no, never.”

“My dear, pray do not send her away, for she is tidy in the house, and quick, and better than any one we have had this last six months; and you know you have tried a great number.”

“To hear you speak, one would think it was my fault that we have so many bad servants.”

“I never said it was your fault; but I think, dearest, a little more forbearance in trifles”—­

“Trifles! trifles—­for a mistress and maid to be seen dressed alike in the same church?  You take the servants’ part against me, that you do.”

“You should not say that, even in jest.  Come now, do you really think a jacket like yours can make the servant look like you, or detract from your grace and beauty?  There is a very simple way; put your jacket by for a future occasion, and wear something else in its stead at church.”

“A nice thing, indeed, to give in to these creatures.  I won’t do it.”

“Why won’t you, this once?”

“Because I won’t—­there!”

“That is unanswerable,” said he.

Mrs. Staines said that; but when it came to acting, she deferred to her husband’s wish; she resigned her intention of sending for Clara and giving her warning.  On the contrary, when Clara let her in, and the white jackets rubbed together in the narrow passage, she actually said nothing, but stalked to her own room, and tore her jacket off, and flung it on the floor.

Unfortunately, she was so long dressing for the Zoo, that Clara came in to arrange the room.  She picks up the white jacket, takes it in both hands, gives it a flap, and proceeds to hang it up in the wardrobe.