“We don’t know much as it is,” muttered the cook, kneading handsful of butter into her pie-crust, while Ellen made the most of her story.
“Well, you may know this, if you’ll take the trouble to understand,” answered Ellen, with a toss of her head. “It was full ten minutes before the madam came out of her fainting fit, and when she did, it was to sit up like a ghost and look around with frightened eyes, as if she dreaded something, and there old Storms stood half crying. When she saw me the color came back to her face with a rush, and in her grand way, she asked what I was doing there. When I attempted to answer, she pointed to the door and said,
“Go, leave me. There was nothing the matter, that you should be called. The heavy perfume of the flowers made me faint; but Storms was enough.”
“Then she arose with her haughtiest air and swept by me like a queen.”
“Rather hard on you, Ellen. I should say it all meant that you wasn’t wanted,” said the cook, dusting the flour from her hands with a sort of glee, for she had made that a pretence for clapping them.
“I wasn’t addressing my conversation to you,” replied Ellen, with lofty disdain, and was about to say to Mr. Robert “that when I went into the house madam passed me without a word, and shut herself up in her own room where she has been these two hours without ringing her bell once. Now I say that looks mysterious.”
“Sensationing, at least,” answered the footman.
CHAPTER XII.
JAMES MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE.
“Please, will you tell some one to empty the basket. I’ve been away from the store ever so long.”
It was the voice of little James, who had been modestly waiting to be noticed while this eager conversation went on, and now addressed Ellen as the most important person in the room.