"Thank you," I said; "and would you let me wear plaits?"
She hesitated, and then, like the boy who stood on the burning deck, remained faithful to duty.
"People might call."
"And if they did?"
"Plaits is only proper for little girls and in bedrooms—I don't like them there,—but if the master doesn't mind I don't."
Dimbie broke into roars.
"Go and get some more tea," I commanded, "and make haste."
"She's a good, faithful soul," said Dimbie when she had gone, "and we won't part with her."
"Part with her!" I repeated in astonishment. "I should think not indeed. Why, if Amelia were to go I should be lost; and I should not only lose myself, but the tortoise, my purse—everything I possess. She is my guide, my comforter, my solace in my lonely hours, and tells me entrancing stories about the Tompkinses. I could not do without Amelia."
"And yet I don't know how she would agree with other servants."