She pushed back her chair and went hurriedly into the farther room. Presently she came back laughing, but looking flushed and annoyed.
"It's really too vexatious," she said. "There seems no use at all in buying pretty things, the servants do break them so."
"What was it this time?" asked Georgie.
"It was my favorite bit of Sèvres. Don't you recollect it,—two lovely little shepherdesses in blue Watteaus, holding a flower-basket between them? Pierre says his feather duster caught in the open-work edge of the basket."
"Why do you let him use feather dusters? The feathers are so apt to catch."
"My dear, what can I do? Each fresh servant has his or her theory as to how things should be cleaned. Whatever the theory is, the china goes all the same; and I can't tell them any better. I don't know a thing about dusting."
That moment, as if some quick-witted fairy had waved her wand, an idea darted like a flash into Georgie's head.
She took five minutes to consider it, while Mrs. St. John went on:—
"People talk of the hardship of not being able to have things; but I think it's just as hard to have them and not be allowed to keep them. I don't dare to let myself care for a piece of china nowadays, for if I do it's the first thing to go. Pierre's a treasure in other respects, but he smashes most dreadfully; and the second man is quite as bad; and Marie, upstairs, is worse than either. Mr. St. John says I ought to be 'mistress of myself, though china fall;' but I really can't."
Georgie, who had listened to this without listening, had now made up her mind.