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 only I am thinking. I can be strong for you, wise for you, and should thank God, both in pride and humbleness, for the chance to serve you; to serve you with reverence and love. Send for me. Tell me—let me share all and always. Devotedly yours, G. S.

She sat a long time with the letter in her hand, read it again and yet again. She forgot the night terrors, began to question herself. Of what had she been so frightened? What had Stevens told her? Only that a shabby man had questioned cook about their visitors. Now she wanted to analyse and sift the trouble, get to bedrock with it. She rang the bell and sent for the maids. They had singularly little to tell her; summarised it came to this: A shabby man had hung about Carbies all Monday; cook had called him up to the back door and asked him what he was after—"No good, I'll be bound," she told him. He had paid her a compliment and said that "with her in the kitchen it was no wonder men 'ung about." And after that they seemed to have had something of a colloquy and cook had been asked if she walked out with anybody. "Like his nasty impidence," she commented, when telling the story to her mistress. "I up and told him whether I walked out with anybody or not I wasn't for the likes of him."