with her when she was married. I was my lady's own woman.« »And you have been with her ever since?« »I have been in the house ever since. My lady has taken a younger person. You see I am very old. I do nothing regular now. But I keep about.« »You look very strong and well,« said Newman, observing the erectness of her figure, and a certain venerable rosiness in her cheek. »Thank God I am not ill, sir; I hope I know my duty too well to go panting and coughing about the house. But I am an old woman, sir, and it is as an old woman that I venture to speak to you.« »Oh, speak out,« said Newman, curiously. »You needn't be afraid of me.« »Yes, sir. I think you are kind. I have seen you before.« »On the stairs, you mean?« »Yes, sir. When you have been coming to see the countess. I have taken the liberty of noticing that you come often.« »Oh yes; I come very often,« said Newman, laughing. »You need not have been very wide awake to notice that.« »I have noticed it with pleasure, sir,« said the ancient tirewoman gravely. And she stood looking at Newman with a strange expression of face. The old instinct of deference and humility was there; the habit of decent self-effacement and knowledge of her own place. But there mingled with it a certain mild audacity, born of the occasion and of a sense, probably, of Newman's unprecedented approachableness, and, beyond this, a vague indifference to the old proprieties; as if my lady's own woman had at last begun to reflect that, since my lady had taken another person, she had a slight reversionary property in herself. »You take a great interest in the family?« said Newman. »A deep interest, sir. Especially in the countess.« »I am glad of that,« said Newman. And in a moment he added, smiling: »So do I!« »So I supposed, sir. We can't help noticing these things and having our ideas; can we, sir?« »You mean as a servant?« said Newman. »Ah, there it is, sir. I am afraid that when I let my thoughts meddle with such matters I am no longer a servant. But