The housekeeper’s effort to imitate the airy manner she remembered caused her son to chuckle as he gathered up the shining harness.

“You should have seen the look Mr. Evringham gave her.  Just as if he didn’t see her at all.  ‘Yes,’ he answered, ’I hope Mrs. Forbes will wait on my table as long as I have one.’  And I will if I have my health,” added the speaker, bridling with renewed pleasure at the memory of that triumphant moment.  “They think I’m a machine without any feelings or opinions, and that I’ve been wound up to suit Mr. Evringham and run his establishment, and that I’m no more to be considered than the big Westminster clock on the stairs.  Mrs. Evringham did try once to get into my employer’s rooms and look after his clothes.”  Mrs. Forbes shook her head and tightened her lips at some recollection.

“She bucked up against the machine, did she?” inquired Zeke.

The housekeeper glanced around to see if any one might be approaching.

“I saw her go in there, and I followed her,” she continued almost in a whisper.  “She sort of started, but spoke up in her cool way, ’I wish to look over father’s clothes and see if anything needs attention.’  ‘Thank you, Mrs. Evringham, but everything is in order,’ I said, very respectful.  ‘Well, leave it for me next time, Mrs. Forbes,’ she says.  ‘I shall take care of him while I am here.’  ‘Thank you,’ says I, ’but he wouldn’t want your visit interfered with by that kind of work.’  She looked at me sort of suspicious and haughty.  ‘I prefer to do it,’ she answers, trying to look holes in me with her big eyes.  ’Then will you ask him, please,’ said I very polite, ’before I give you the keys, because we’ve got into habits here.  I’ve taken care of Mr. Evringham’s clothes for fifteen years.’  She looked kind of set back.  ’Is it so long?’ she asks.  ‘Well, I will see about it.’  But I guess the right time for seeing about it never came,” added the housekeeper knowingly.

“You’re still doing business at the old stand, eh?” rejoined Zeke.  “Well, I’m glad you like your job.  It’s my opinion that the governor’s harder—­”

“Ahem, ahem!” Mrs. Forbes cleared her throat with desperate loudness and tugged at her son’s shirt sleeve with an energy which caused him to wheel.

Coming up the sunny driveway was a tall man with short, scrupulously brushed iron-gray hair, and sweeping mustache.  The lines under his eyes were heavy, his glance was cold.  His presence was dignified, commanding, repellent.

The housekeeper and coachman both stood at attention, the latter mechanically pulling down his rolled-up sleeves.

“So you’re moving out here, Mrs. Forbes,” was the remark with which the newcomer announced himself.

“Yes, Mr. Evringham.  The man has been here to put in the electric bell you ordered.  I shall be as quick to call as if I was still in the house, sir, and I thank you—­’Zekiel and I both do—­for consenting to my making it home-like for him.  Perhaps you’d come up and see the rooms, sir?”