The glance that accompanied the speech was mysterious but significant. Janice nodded sympathetically.
“I hope you brought a trunk. I ain’t a bit sure when I’ll be able to let you go,” pursued the old lady. “I don’t believe I can let you go until I go, too. I’ve most died here alone.”
“I brought a trunk,” Janice cried into the ear trumpet.
“I’m glad,” said Aunt Mary. She paused, and her eyes grew wistful.
“Granite,” she asked, “do you think you could manage to do a skirt dance on the footboard? I’m ’most wild to see some lace shake.”
Janice looked doubtfully at the footboard. It was wide for a footboard, but narrow—too narrow—for a skirt dance.
“But I can do one on the floor,” she cried.
Aunt Mary’s features became suffused with heavenly joy.
“Oh, Granite!” she murmured, in accents of greatest anticipation.
The maid stood up, and, going off as far as the limits of the spacious bedroom would allow, executed a most fetching and dainty pas seul to a tune of her own humming.