Thomas is his name, my love.”  The cook was rapidly becoming more and more friendly, “and the housemaid is called Geraldine, for which ‘eaven forgives her parents, she bein’ spotty and un’ealthy and by no means a Bow-Bell’s ’eroine, which ’er name makes you think of.  But there’s a dear, I’m talking brilliant, when you’re dying for a cup of tea, and need to get your box unpacked, by which I mean that I sees the porter with the barrer.”

The newly-arrived parlor-maid was pleased by this friendly if ungrammatical reception, and thought she would like the cook in spite of her somewhat tiresome tongue.  For the next hour she was unpacking her box and arranging a pleasant little room at the back.  She shared this with the spotty Geraldine, who seemed to be a good-natured girl.  Apparently Miss Loach looked after her servants and made them comfortable.  Thomas proved to be amiable if somewhat stupid, and welcomed Susan to tea affably but with sheepish looks.  As the servants seemed pleasant, the house comfortable, and as the salary was excellent, Susan concluded that she had—­as the saying is—­ fallen on her feet.

The quartette had tea in the servants’ hall, and there was plenty of well-cooked if plain victuals.  Miss Loach dined at half-past six and Susan assumed her dress and cap.  She laid the table in a handsome dining-room, equally as garish in color as the apartment below.  The table appointments were elegant, and Mrs. Pill served a nice little meal to which Miss Loach did full justice.  She wore the same purple dress, but with the addition of more jewellery.  Her sharp eyes followed Susan about the room as she waited, and at the end of the dinner she made her first observation.  “You know your work I see,” she said.  “I hope you will be happy here!”

“I think I will, ma’am,” said Susan, with a faint sigh.

“You have had trouble?” asked Miss Loach quickly.

“Yes, ma’am!”

“You must tell me about it to-morrow,” said the old lady rising.  “I like to gain the confidence of my servants.  Now bring my coffee to the room below.  At eight, three people will arrive—­a lady and two gentlemen.  You will show them into the sitting-room and put out the card-table.  Then you can go to the kitchen and wait till I ring.  Be sure you don’t come till I do ring,” and Miss Loach emphasized this last order with a flash of her brilliant eyes.

Susan took the coffee to the sitting-room in the basement and then cleared the table.  Shortly before eight o’clock there was a ring at the front door.  She opened it to a tall lady, with gray hair, who leaned on an ebony cane.  With her were two men, one a rather rough foolish-looking fellow, and the other tall, dark, and well-dressed in an evening suit.  A carriage was just driving away from the gate.  As the tall lady entered, a breath of strong perfume saluted Susan’s nostrils.  The girl started and peered into the visitor’s face.  When she returned to the kitchen her own was as white as chalk.