Page:The Yellow Book - 07.djvu/313

 her with uncomplaining patience. Now and again—for Martha was occasionally both slow and uncomprehending—I myself felt tempted to speak sharply to her; but something in the expression of her earnest little face, some unconscious pathos in her personality, restrained me. Gradually, as the weeks passed, I found myself more and more interested in her—once or twice almost painfully so.

One day in particular, I remember, things had gone awry with Martha from morning until night. She let fall, and smashed to atoms, a vegetable dish which she was handing to her mistress at luncheon. Mrs. Norris was, naturally, much annoyed, and the poor girl went through the rest of her duties with burning cheeks, and an increased clumsiness of manner. Afterwards I heard one of the other servants scolding her about a fire which had been allowed to die out, and, later in the evening, I found her in the hall, undergoing a severe reprimand from Amy Norris, whose nightly letter she had dropped into the mud on her way to the post.

"It isn't only that," said Amy, with concentrated scorn and annoyance. "Though such stupidity is bad enough, goodness knows. But she must needs bring the letter back again, to show to me—as if that would do any good! And now she's missed the post from the pillar-box. Isn't it inconceivable?"

As the last few words were addressed to me, I nodded in reply. It certainly did appear inconceivable—I should have posted the letter and said nothing about it.

Amy rubbed the envelope vigorously with her handkerchief.

"I thought, Miss, I'd better tell you about it, I thought perhaps you'd like to write it over again," said Martha, submissively.

"You thought—you thought—you've no business to think," snapped