"Why—I— Really, Mrs. Watkins, isn't the small room beyond Janice's quite sufficient for you?" he asked, a little color coming into his face now.
"Oh, my dear Mr. Day! I could not consider that for a moment. Why, that is the girl's room—merely a bedroom for the hired help. I could not possibly consider myself in the same class—"
"Except on pay-day, Mrs. Watkins?" asked the man bluntly. "We are glad to have you with us, of course; and we will consider your quite different status in the family, as you demand. But—"
"No, Mr. Day," Mrs. Watkins said with decision, interrupting him.
"I could not contemplate for a moment occupying the girl's room.
Why you might want it again any time."
"Not while you are with us," said Mr. Day wonderingly. "I do not think I could afford to have two helpers."
"It does not matter," said the faded-out lady stubbornly. "Janice, get the coffee now. It does not matter. I refuse positively to sleep in that little, poked-up room. I prefer my windows opening to the east."
"But the east room is the one Mrs. Day always used," said the man, with sudden hoarseness. "I cannot allow you to use that one. The spare chamber on the other side of the hall, if you insist."
"Very well," said the woman with a small toss of her head. "Will you have a cup of coffee, Mr. Day?"
"No, Mrs. Watkins. I prefer a cup of tea at dinner time. A New
England habit that has clung to me."
"Indeed? Janice, go and make your father a cup of tea, that's a good child."