"Up to to-day." "I have not had time to reckon, my lady." Lady Isabel took a pencil and paper, made out the account, and laid it down in gold and silver on the table.

"It is more than you deserve, Marvel," she remarked, "and more than you would get in most places.

You ought to have given me proper notice." Marvel melted into tears, and began a string of excuses.

"She should never have wished to leave so kind a lady, but for attendant ill-conveniences, and she hoped my lady would not object to testify to her character." Lady Isabel quitted the room in the midst of it; and in the course of the day Marvel took her departure, Joyce telling her that she ought to be ashamed of herself.
"I couldn't help myself," retorted Marvel, "and I am sorry to leave her, for she's a pleasant young lady to serve." "Well, I know I'd have helped myself," was Joyce's remark.

"I would not go off in this unhandsome way from a good mistress." "Perhaps you wouldn't," loftily returned Marvel, "but my inside feelings are delicate and can't bear to be trampled upon.