Elizabeth looked up with a long, wistfull stare of intense surprise, and then added, “Have I done any thing wrong, missis?”

“I did not say so.  But drink this; and don’t talk, child.”

She was obeyed.  By-and-by Elizabeth disappeared into the back kitchen, emerged thence with a clean face, hands, and apron; and went about her afternoon business as if nothing had happened.

Her mistresses’ threatened “talk” with her never came about.  What, indeed, could they say?  No doubt the little servant had broken the strict letter of domestic law by running off in that highly eccentric and inconvenient way; but, as Hilary tried to explain by a series of most ingenious ratiocinations, she had fulfilled, in the spirit of it, the very highest law—­that of charity.  She had also shown prompt courage, decision, practical and prudent forethought, and above all, entire self-forgetfulness.

“And I should like to know,” said Miss Hilary, warming with her subject, “if those are not the very qualities that go to constitute a hero.”

“But we don’t want a hero; we want a maid-of-all-work.”

“I’ll tell you what we want, Selina.  We want a woman; that is, a girl with the making of a good woman in her.  If we can find that, all the rest will follow.  For my part, I would rather take this child, rough as she is, but with her truthfulness, conscientiousness, kindliness of heart, and evident capability of both self-control and self-devotedness, than the most finished servant we could find.  My advice is—­keep her.”

This settled the matter, since it was a curious fact that the “advice” of the youngest Miss Leaf was, whether they knew it or not, almost equivalent to a family ukase.

When Elizabeth had brought in the tea-things, which she did with especial care, apparently wishing to blot out the memory of the morning’s escapade by astonishingly good behavior for the rest of the day, Miss Leaf called her, and asked if she knew that her month of trial ended this day?

“Yes, ma’am,” with the strict normal courtesy, something between that of the old-world family domestic—­as her mother might have been to the Miss Elizabeth Something she was named after—­and the abrupt “dip” of the modern National school girl; which constituted Elizabeth Hand’s sole experience of manners.

“If you had not been absent I should have gone to speak with your mother to-day.  Indeed Miss Hilary was going when you came in; but it would have been with a very different intention from what we had in the morning.  However, that is not likely to happen again.”

“Eh?” said Elizabeth, inquiringly.

Miss Leaf hesitated, and looked uneasily at her two sisters.  It was always a trial to her shy nature to find herself the mouth-piece of the family; and this same shyness made it still more difficult to break through the stiff barriers which seemed to rise up between her, a gentlewoman well on in years, and this coarse working girl.  She felt, as she often complained, that with the-kindest intentions, she did not quite know how to talk to Elizabeth.