Keziah, also surprised to find herself of so much less consequence than she had supposed, said that, if that was the case, she’d go and see Miss Rose about it.

“You can go now,” said Deb.

“Thank you, Miss Deb, I will,” said Keziah, “as soon as I have cleared up.  Would a month’s notice suit you?  I don’t wish to put you about at all.”

“A month will be ample,” said Deb.  “A week, if you like.”

“I’ll see what Miss Rose says,” said Keziah.

Rose, after the interview, wrote affectionately to Deb, to say she would not dream of taking Keziah if Deb wanted her; Deb wrote affectionately to Rose, to say that she would be rather glad than otherwise to make the change, as the work was too much for such an old woman.  So Keziah went over to the Breen camp, where she had comfort and companionship, and her own way in everything; and Deb began to experiment with the common or garden ‘general’ as purveyed by Melbourne registry offices.

She loathed these creatures, one and all.  They were of a race unknown at Redford, and she was singularly unlucky in the specimens that fell to her; although some of them could have been made something of by a mistress who knew how to do it.  It is only fair to state that they loathed her—­for a finicking, unreasonable, stuck-up poor woman, who gave herself the airs of a wealthy lady.  They came at the rate of two a month, and each one as she passed seemed to leave the little house meaner, dingier, more damaged than before.  It was not living, it was “pigging”, Frances said—­and Deb agreed with her—­although when Keziah ventured to call one day to inquire into the state of things, Deb calmly asserted that all was well.

In despair she tried a lady-help, in the person of Miss Keene, dying to return to her dear family (from relations who did not want her) on any terms.

“Whatever we ask her to do we must do ourselves,” said Deb to grumbling Frances, who seemed never willing to do anything; “and of course we shall have to get a washwoman, and a charwoman to scrub; but it will be cheaper in the end.  And oh, anything rather than sticky door-handles and greasy spoons, and those awful voices hailing one all over the house!”

But it was not cheaper, nor was the arrangement satisfactory in any way after the first fortnight.  Miss Keene, spoiled at Redford as they had been, was as unfit for crude housework, and she aggravated her incompetence by weeping over it.  She had not gathered from Deb’s letters that the change in the family fortunes was as great as it now proved to be; and Deb had not anticipated the effect of adversity upon one so easily depressed.  She had no ‘heart’, poor thing.  She struggled and muddled, sighing for flowers for the vases while the beds were unmade; and when she saw a certain look on Deb’s face, wept and mourned and gave up hope.  So they “pigged” still, although they did not defile the furniture with unwashed hands, and the plate and crockery with