“You shall go at once, girl—this very day!” and the angry madam almost sputtered.
“I just love you for it!” said Cynthia. “You don’t know how I have fairly hungered to be discharged!”
She tossed the feather-duster on one of the great settees, her cap and apron after it, and, humming a tune, departed for the rear premises. Beth, who stood by with coat and hat on, had been horrified.
The madam was really in tears—none the less sad to see because they were tears of rage. Beth could not forgive Cynthia Fogg for her callousness and flippancy. But at first she dared not speak.
When, however, she saw the madam pick up the duster and attempt to reach the top of the pictures with it, Beth interfered. She took off her cap and coat and laid them on a chair. Then she took the duster from the lady with a decisive hand.
“Let me finish here, Madam Hammersly. I shall like to,” said Beth. “And I’ll put on Cynthia’s apron and cap, and do it in style. I am sorry she has acted so, Madam—and after all your kindness to her,” added Beth. “But I dare you to find any dust after I get through,” and she finished with a laugh, giving the madam a chance to recover her wonted calm.
“But, my dear Miss Baldwin,” Madam Hammersly finally said weakly, “what—what will my daughter—and the instructors—say?”
Beth looked over her shoulder roguishly. “I don’t believe they will see me,” she whispered, “for they are none of them up.”
“But the other young ladies?” put forth the madam.
“I might say the same about most of them,” laughed Beth. “But I will say instead: What if they should see me?”