“Is it possible that you have not yet arranged my room!” cried Luiza.
Juliana was taken aback by this unexpected burst of anger. “I am doing it, Senhora,” she replied.
“That you are doing it I can see,” returned Luiza; “but it is three o’clock, and the room still in this condition!”
She had thrown down her hat and parasol.
“As the senhora is in the habit of returning home later—”
“What does it matter to you at what hour I return?” she cried. “What have you to do with that? Your business is to put my room in order as soon as I am up, and if you do not like that you can take your wages and go.”
Juliana turned crimson, and fixed on Luiza her bloodshot eyes.
“Very well, Senhora, for I will bear this no longer,” she said, scattering the sweepings angrily about the floor.
“Go this instant!” cried Luiza. “Not a moment longer in my house!”
Juliana placed herself before her mistress, and striking her breast, said hoarsely,—