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 I think it's a very good name for a maid, so I shall call you Emma.'

I was only a child at that time, but even now I remember how Aunt Agatha looked at the new maid over her glasses, in that awe-inspiring, contradict-me-not sort of way of hers, and how the new maid, doubtless taken aback a bit at being rechristened after coming to years of discretion, had meekly retired, murmuring acquiescence. I had found out afterwards, though, that she could lay claim to nothing better than Sarah Jane, and I suppose she thought Emma as good as that any day, and that it wasn't worth making a fuss about. But only a short time before Ermyntrude appeared on the scene Aunt Agatha had been engaging another new maid. She had had quite half a dozen all rechristened Emma—since Sarah Jane, alias Emma number two. I'm bound to admit that maids didn't just cotton on to Aunt Agatha's ways, somehow. As I said before, you have to get to know Aunt Agatha, and I can imagine she would be particularly trying if you weren't in a position to answer back. Anyway, I had happened to be present when she was engaging the latest new maid. Aunt Agatha had offered her liberal wages, and it was all nicely settled, when Aunt Agatha dismissed her with what was evidently her little formula.

'I don't care what your name is. I've always called my maids Emma. I'm used to it, and I think it a very good name for a maid, so I shall call you Emma.'

Aunt Agatha had looked again over her spectacles