“They make a point of our keeping to the letter of the law,” Justine explained.

“Not knowing what my particular needs are, nor how I like my house to be run, is that it?” the other woman asked shrewdly.

“Well—­” Justine hung upon an embarrassed assent.  “But perhaps they won’t be so firm about it as soon as the school is really established,” she added eagerly.

“No; I think they will not!” Mrs. Salisbury agreed with a short laugh, “inasmuch as they cannot, if they ever hope to get any foothold at all!”

And she left the kitchen, feeling that in the last remark at least she had scored, yet very angry at Justine, who made this sort of warfare necessary.

“If this sort of thing keeps up, I shall simply have to let her go!” she said.

But she was trembling, and she came to a full stop in the front hall.  It was maddening; it was unbelievable; but that neglected half hour of work threatened to wreck her entire day.  With every fiber of her being in revolt, she went into the sitting-room.

This was Alexandra’s responsibility, after all, she said to herself.  And, after a moment’s indecision, she decided to telephone her daughter at the Burning Woods Club.

“Hello, Mother,” said Alexandra, when a page had duly informed her that she was wanted at the telephone.  Her voice sounded a little tired, faintly impatient.  “What is it, Mother?”

“Why, I ought to go to Mary Bell’s tea, dearie, and I wanted just to look in at the Athenaeum—­” Mrs. Salisbury began, a little inconsequently.  “How soon do you expect to be home?” she broke off to ask.

“I don’t know,” said Sandy lifelessly.

“Are you coming back with Owen?”

“No,” Sandy said, in the same tone.  “I’ll come back with the Prichards, I guess, or with one of the girls.  Owen and the Brice boy are taking Miss Satterlee for a little spin up around Feather Rock.”

“Miss who?” But Mrs. Salisbury knew very well who Miss Satterlee was.  A pretty and pert and rowdyish little dancer, she had managed to captivate one or two of the prominent matrons of the club, and was much in evidence there, to the great discomfort of the more conservative Sandy and her intimates.

Now Sandy’s mother ended the conversation with a few very casual remarks, in not too sympathetic or indignant a vein.  Then, with heart and mind in anything but a hospitable or joyous state, she set about the task of putting the sitting room in order.  She abandoned once and for all any hope of getting to her club or her tea that afternoon, and was therefore possessed of three distinct causes of grievance.

With her mother heart aching for the quiet misery betrayed by Sandy’s voice, she could not blame the girl.  Nor could she blame herself.  So Justine got the full measure of her disapproval, and, while she worked, Mrs. Salisbury refreshed her soul with imaginary conversations in which she kindly but firmly informed Justine that her services were no longer needed—­