Justine paused, a little uncertain of her terms, and Mrs. Salisbury interposed an icy question.

“May I ask where you have transferred my trade?”

“Not to any one place,” the girl answered readily and mildly.  But a little resentful color had crept into her cheeks.  “I pay as I go, and follow the bargains,” she explained.  “I go to market twice a week, and send enough home to make it worth while for the tradesman.  You couldn’t market as I do, Mrs. Salisbury, but the tradespeople rather expect it of a maid.  Sometimes I gather an assortment of vegetables into my basket, and get them to make a price on the whole.  Or, if there is a sale at any store, I go there, and order a dozen cans, or twenty pounds of whatever they are selling.”

Mrs. Salisbury was not enjoying this revelation.  The obnoxious term “upper middle class” was biting like an acid upon her pride.  And it was further humiliating to contemplate her maid as a driver of bargains, as dickering for baskets of vegetables.

“The best is always the cheapest in the long run, whatever it may cost, Justine,” she said, with dignity.  “We may not be among the richest families in town,” she was unable to refrain from adding, “but it is rather amusing to hear you speak of the family as upper middle class!”

“I only meant the—­the sort of ordering we did,” Justine hastily interposed.  “I meant from the grocer’s point of view.”

“Well, Mr. Lewis sold groceries to my grandmother before I was married,” Mrs. Salisbury said loftily, “and I prefer him to any other grocer.  If he is too far away, the order may be telephoned.  Or give me your list, and I will stop in, as I used to do.  Then I can order any little extra delicacy that I see, something I might not otherwise think of.  Let me know what you need to-morrow morning, and I’ll see to it.”

To her surprise, Justine did not bow an instant assent.  Instead the girl looked a little troubled.

“Shall I give you my accounts and my ledger?” she asked rather uncertainly.

“No-o, I don’t see any necessity for that,” the older woman said, after a second’s pause.

“But Lewis & Sons is a very expensive place,” Justine pursued; “they never have sales, never special prices.  Their cheapest tomatoes are fifteen cents a can, and their peaches twenty-five—­”

“Never mind,” Mrs. Salisbury interrupted her briskly.  “We’ll manage somehow.  I always did trade there, and never had any trouble.  Begin with him to-morrow.  And, while, of course, I understand that I was ill and couldn’t be bothered in this case, I want to ask you not to make any more changes without consulting me, if you please.”

Justine, still standing, her troubled eyes on her employer, the last glass, polished to diamond brightness, in her hand, frowned mutinously.

“You understand that if you do any ordering whatever, Mrs. Salisbury, I will have to give up my budget.  You see, in that case, I wouldn’t know where I stood at all.”