"I'm sorry for that. I thought you got on
here very well."
"I used to, sir, but this last few weeks there's nothing pleases her
ladyship; you can't do anything right. I'm sure I've worked my hands
off. But I can't do any more. Perhaps her ladyship will find some one
else to suit her better."
"Didn't her ladyship try to persuade you to stay?"
"Yes--but--I gave warning once before, and then I stayed. And it's no
good. It seems as if you must do wrong. And I don't sleep, sir. It gets
on your nerves so. But I didn't mean to complain. Good-night, sir."
"Good-night. Don't sit up for your mistress. You look tired out. I'll
help her."
"Thank you, sir," said the maid, in a depressed voice, and went.
* * * * *
Half an hour later, Ashe mounted the staircase of a well-known house in
Piccadilly. The evening party was beginning to thin, but in a side
drawing-room a fine Austrian band was playing Strauss, and some of the
intimates of the house were dancing.
Ashe at once perceived his wife. She was dancing with a clever Cambridge
lad, a cousin of Madeleine Alcot's, who had long been one of her
adorers.
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