shrewd expression (which might be merry if encouraged by her ladyship), and a large, slouching body with stooped shoulders.
"What young lady have we here?" he inquired.
"Not a young lady at all," explained his wife sharply. "My new French maid."
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said Sir Samuel, though it was n't quite clear whether it was my forgiveness or that of his spouse he craved, for his mistake in supposing me to be a "young lady."
"What's her name?" he wanted to know, evidently approving of me, if not as a maid, at least as a human being.
"Something ridiculous in French that sounds like 'Liz,' "sniffed her ladyship. "But I shall call her Elise. Also I shall expect her to stop dyeing her hair."
"But, madame, I do not dye it!" I exclaimed.
"Don't tell me. I know dyed hair when I see it."
(She ought to, having experience enough with her own!)
"Nature is the dyer, then," I ventured to persist, piqued to self-defence by the certainty that her object was to strip me of my wicked mask before her husband.
"I 'm not used to being contradicted by my servants," her ladyship reminded me.
"My dear, do let the poor girl know whether she dyes her hair or not." Sir Samuel pleaded for me with more kindness than discretion. "I'm sure she speaks beautiful English."
"As if that had anything to do with it! She may as well understand, to begin with, that I won't put up with
