For so it was, and all Miss Burton's efforts failed to put her, even for a moment, at the head of his table.
I do not quite know how or when it was that I began to realize that such was her effort.

I remember once hearing a scrap of conversation between our most respectable and respectful butler and the housekeeper--"behind the scenes"-- as the former worthy came from the breakfast-room.
"And how's the new missis this morning, Mr.Smith ?" asked the housekeeper, with a bitterness not softened by the prospect of possible dethronement.
"Another try for the tea-tray, ma'am," replied Smith, "but it's no go." "A brazen, black-haired old maid!" cried the housekeeper.

"To think of her taking the place of that sweet angel, Mrs.Dacre (and she barely two years in her grave), and pretending to act a mother's part by the poor boy and all.

I've no patience!" On one excuse or another, the Burtons contrived to extend their visit; and the prospect of a marriage between my father and Miss Burton was now discussed too openly behind his back for me to fail to hear it.
Then Nurse Bundle on this subject hardly exercised her usual discretion in withholding me from servants' gossip, and servants' gossip from me.

Her own indignation was strongly aroused, and I had no difficulty in connecting her tearful embraces, and her allusions to my dead mother, with the misfortune we all believed to be impending.
[Illustration: The lank lawyer wagged my hand of a morning, and said, "And how is Miss Eliza's little beau ?"] At first I had admired Miss Burton's bouncing looks.