"Do you know," she asked, "that if this had come up on a day when I had been getting ahead, and was satisfied with my work instead of bitterly put out with it, that I-I just couldn't have said yes?"

"I know it," he said, simply.

"And that I'll probably have days when my work is going so well that I won't need you, and won't really belong to you at all?"

"That's the way men love women, isn't it?" "Yes," she said, slowly, "I suppose it is." There was a long silence between them, and through it she felt the heavy beating of his heart against her shoulder, as he half bent over her, waiting for her to think. "If I could only be sure," she said, almost with a break in her voice.

"Sure of what, dear?"

"That I wouldn't have to give up my work." She buried her face against him as if she were ashamed of her selfishness. "If I could feel perfectly willing to give up everything, then I would be sure I loved you."

She shivered a little. "I wonder why I didn't see it," she said, a little tremulously, "and run."

"You couldn't," he said. "It wouldn't have made any difference. It was fate."

"I wonder," she said, half under her breath, "if there is an hour appointed by destiny for women like me, who can't love absolutely, like other women."

"The mauvais quart d'heure?" he laughed. "Perhaps there is. I'm glad, anyhow, that there was an hour appointed by destiny for our meeting."

"I don't believe," she said, with a little laugh, "that Miss Cornelia so considered it." "On the contrary," he said, gravely, "I believe she did."

T

HE queen of a perfectly ordered household is, comparatively speaking, as great a diplomat as a ruler of nations. There is an atmosphere about "Harbor Hill," the charming country estate of Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Mackay at Roslyn, Long Island, which bespeaks the gentlewoman, and a harmonious responsiveness about its corps of servants which argues well for executive system in the home. Whether for selfish reasons or otherwise, the wise homemaker is she who inspires in her servants an anxiety to please. It cannot be denied that happiness is a potent stimulus to endeavor, and perhaps the luxurious home life of the

Harbor Hill servants accounts in a measure for the admirable order which is shown in every detail of this perfect home.

The invited guest may fancy that on the more or less festive occasion of his visit he sees the real workings of the domestic system. But this is far from being true. The real household mechanism can be seen only in the quiet every-day home life of the endless force of servants who keep the machinery in perfect running order.

To spend a day or so behind the scenes at Harbor Hill and to be permitted to see this domestic machinery in motion and at rest forces one to think, with our Paris corre

THE PARLOR MAID'S BEDROOM.

spondent, that "in the United States our servants seem sometimes a too splendid evidence of the glory of our democracy."

Certainly there is a bigness about the servant problem on these large estates of the very rich that is hard for the average housewife to grasp. It is not the kind of bigness, however, that is ordinarily suggested by the modern servant problem. In a small household conducted on the basis of economy the problem is that of securing one servant capable of performing all duties; in the household of the very rich, which may, to be sure, be equally small in so far as number in family is concerned, the problem consists in properly apportioning one duty to each servant. When the master and mistress of Harbor Hill are lunching or dining alone a butler and three footmen in livery are always on duty to minister to their needs. When occasion demands, there are others equally well trained who assist in serving guests. Besides serving in the dining-room the head butler is in charge of the wine-cellar and the Madeira-room, and buys all the wines

that are used. He also buys the fruits for the table and arranges the flowers, which he does most tastefully. Aside from these specified duties, the butler and footmen have little to do, and the time between the luncheon hour and dinner they are free to spend as they like.

On an estate covering 800 or more acres, the vastness of the wonderful "servant system," with its divisions and subdivisions, seems almost as great as that of some mighty railroad or other corporation. The domestic corps is practically managed by the housekeeper, and comprises some twenty-five or more workers. This is only a small portion of the laborers of Harbor Hill. The stables and the grounds are equally important departments, where the army of workers is much larger. The nursery, of course, is a delightful little department of its own-so near the

heart of the mistress of Harbor Hill that one might perhaps call it her own department, though in reality it is in charge of a skilled trained nurse.

Unquestionably in planning Harbor Hill every device that brains and consideration could suggest, and money carry out, has been followed up in the housing of its workers, and the home life of the servants here stands out in most favorable contrast to that of servants in similar homes in England and France, where the crowded conditions are certainly a menace to all moral and physical development.

Necessarily the housekeeper is a woman of intelligence, tact, and refinement and wonderful executive ability. It is she, and not the mistress of the house, who has the tremendous responsibility of employing and discharging and watching over this corps of domestics. She is supposed to know just what each one is doing at each hour of the

day. She does all this and finds time to spend many hours in her well-appointed suite in the servants' wing. Her living room, charmingly homelike, is furnished in rose pink. It is in the front of the house, with a fascinating outlook over the beautifully kept grounds. Bowls of cut flowers and many plants make this room resemble a conservatory. In a pretty cage hanging in the window is a song-bird, and on a fur rug in a sunny corner a fuzzy little ball of a dog is curled.

Adjoining the housekeeper's bedroom is a bath-room for her individual use, with embroidered towels and all the dainty toilet accessories that are so enjoyed by the woman of refinement. At a completely equipped desk in her sitting-room she spends certain hours each day, sometimes writing twenty-five or thirty checks at a time. Besides paying the wages of all servants in her department, she pays all bills for the house and for the thousand and one household articles that she finds it necessary to

purchase. To go over the house and supply every bath-room with dainty soaps and toilet waters, sponges, brushes, and other things which are needed, is in itself no small undertaking. She notes carefully the inevitable wear and tear, supervises repairers, and interviews painters, decorators, and plumbers. It is in midsummer, when the family is away and the house is practically closed for the season, that she is busy replacing, replenishing, and getting things in readiness for the opening of the season in September. So ably is she assisted in this work by her corps of maids that she accomplishes all this and finds time for relaxation.

Each week she spends hours in the cedarlined linen-room of Harbor Hill, and the treasures of linen there are something to dream of. The room itself is so compactly ceiled with cedar that it looks as if it had been hollowed out of one large block of this fragrant wood. On one side from floor to ceiling is the magnificent cedar press, divided off into shelves and compartments.

On the other side of the room is a long, low, cedar table with white marble top. When the laundered linen is brought in in eight or ten huge hampers, it is laid out and assorted on this table, until it can be counted and looked over by the housekeeper. On top of each pile as it is laid in the linenpress is placed a sachet of delicate odor. Every piece of linen here was ordered from Paris by the mistress of the house. Here are dozens and dozens of hemstitched and embroidered table-cloths and napkins of heavy damask, and matchless centrepieces and covers for table and dressing-table. The hand-embroidered sheets, bedspreads, and pillow-cases for the mistress's boudoir seen here are perhaps the handsomest to be found in America. While one is almost awed by the amount of money the contents of this linenroom represent, the exquisite tastefulness shown in the selection of it is equally impressive.

The Harbor Hill laundry is used exclusively for the servants. It is large and light,

and splendidly equipped with every modern convenience for washing, ironing, and drying. Basins and tubs are of marble. There are wonderful electric dryers, and numberless electric irons of various sizes.

The household linen for the servants' rooms is kept in a separate linen-room.

When one has examined the treasures stored here, some idea of what it means to be custodian of the linen-room is grasped.

At the end of the day's work the housekeeper is quite ready to jump into an open surrey which is at her disposal, and drive over to the village or through the picturesque grounds of Harbor Hill.

With the exception of the rooms of the valet and maid, all the house servants' rooms are located in a wing sufficiently removed from the other portion of the house to cut off entirely the sound of any hilarity they might care to indulge in. The bedrooms of the butler, chef, maids, and footmen are similarly furnished in white-enamelled furniture and dainty muslin curtains, little personal