Celia stood in the door and gurgled to herself.
"You baby," she smiled.
"On the contrary," I said, "I have made a dignified yet subtle protest. You wouldn't move in the matter so I had to do something. I flatter myself that a sense of her past silliness will rush over Jane like a flood when she comes in here to-morrow morning."
"If Jane's flooded at all," said Celia, "it will be with the idea that the master's mad. But I don't think she'll notice it particularly."
Next morning everything was right side up again—except the cup.
"It's no good," I told Celia; "she is obviously determined. Perhaps it means more than we think to her to have that cup upside-down. Its beauty, the memories it brings back, the symbolism of it, these things touch some hidden spring.... Still I am master in my own house." And I turned the cup round again....
Another month passed and I could bear it no longer. Yesterday I made up my mind. I would speak to Jane myself. I turned my First Prize the right way up, and then looked for Celia.
"Celia," I said firmly, "where is Jane?"
"She's gone out," said Celia softly. "Her—her man goes off to-day."