“You see how it works,” I remarked as Bridget left the room, and my husband leaned back in his chair to wait for a fresh cup of tea.  “One half of the time, when anything is returned, we can’t use it.  The butter Mrs. Jordon got a little while ago, if returned to-morrow, will not be fit to go on our table.  We can only use it for cooking.”

“It isn’t right,” sententiously remarked my husband.  “The fact is,” he resumed, after a slight pause, “I wouldn’t lend such a woman anything.  It is a downright imposition.”

“It is a very easy thing to say that, Mr. Smith.  But I am not prepared to do it.  I don’t believe Mrs. Jordon means to do wrong, or is really conscious that she is trespassing upon us.  Some people don’t reflect.  Otherwise she is a pleasant neighbor, and I like her very much.  It is want of proper thought, Mr. Smith, and nothing else.”

“If a man kept treading on my gouty toe for want of thought,” said my husband, “I should certainly tell him of it, whether he got offended I or not.  If his friendship could only be retained on these terms, I would prefer dispensing with the favor.”

“The case isn’t exactly parallel, Mr. Smith,” was my reply.  “The gouty toe and crushing heel are very palpable and straightforward matters, and a man would be an egregious blockhead to be offended when reminded of the pain he was inflicting.  But it would be impossible to make Mrs. Jordon at all conscious of the extent of her short-comings, very many of which, in fact, are indirect, so far as she is concerned, and arise from her general sanction of the borrowing system.  I do not suppose, for a moment, that she knows about everything that is borrowed.”

“If she dosn’t, pray who does?” inquired my husband.

“Her servants.  I have to be as watchful as you can imagine, to see that Bridget, excellent a girl as she is, doesn’t suffer things to get out, and then, at the last moment, when it is too late to send to the store, run in to a neighbor’s and borrow to hide her neglect.  If I gave her a carte blanche for borrowing, I might be as annoying to my neighbors as Mrs. Jordon.”

“That’s a rather serious matter,” said my husband.  “In fact, there is no knowing how much people may suffer in their neighbors’ good opinion, through the misconduct of their servants in this very thing.”

“Truly said.  And now let me relate a fact about Mrs. Jordon, that illustrates your remark.” (The fresh tea had come in, and we were going on with our evening meal.) “A few weeks ago we had some friends here, spending the evening.  When about serving refreshments, I discovered that my two dozen tumblers had been reduced to seven or eight.  On inquiry, I learned that Mrs. Jordon had ten—­the rest had been broken.  I sent to her, with my compliments, and asked her to return them, as I had some company, and wished to use them in serving refreshments.  Bridget was gone some time, and when she returned, said that Mrs. Jordon at first denied having any of my tumblers.  Her cook was called, who acknowledged to five, and, after sundry efforts on the part of Bridget to refresh her memory, finally gave in to the whole ten.  Early on the next morning Mrs. Jordon came in to see me, and seemed a good deal mortified about the tumblers.