"Eliza," I said, "there is one little fault which you should try to correct. It is pigheadedness."
At breakfast next morning the picture was all crooked. I put it straight. Then the girl brought in the bacon, rubbed against the picture, and put it crooked again. I put it straight again, and sat down. The girl, in passing out, put it crooked once more.
"Really," I said to Eliza, "this is a little too much!"
"Then put some of it back."
"I was not referring to what I have on my plate, but to that girl's conduct. I don't buy 'Christian Martyrs' for her to treat them in that way, and I think you should speak about it."
"She can't get past without rubbing against it. You've put it so low. I said it would be better in the drawing-room."
As usual, I kept my temper.
"Eliza," I said, "have you already forgotten what I told you last night? We all of us—even the best of us—have our faults, but surely——"
"While you're talking you're missing your train," she said.