The sound of merry voices, which proceeded from the party on the lawn, reached the apartment, and occasional bursts of laughter were also audible.
“The major’s voice,” said the lady.
“Yes, marm, what good spirits he is in to-day! He’s always merry, but he’s more than usually so now. Oh, he is a nice gentleman.”
“Yes, kind and considerate to everyone, and he’s so full of anecdote, too.”
“He’s been in the Crimea—has he not, marm?”
“Oh, dear yes, all through the Crimean war—at Balaclava, Inkerman, and Sebastopol.”
“Oh!” murmured Peace; “there’s a major in the case, eh. This is lively. I’m in a pretty pickle, and it will be a wonderful thing to me if I succeed in getting clean off. Hang the woman!—how long does she intend to sit before that blooming glass?”
Our hero soon discovered that only part of the toilette had been performed.
The lady had to change her dress, but luckily for Peace the garment in question was not in the wardrobe. Had this been the case he would have been lost. He had the satisfaction of seeing her maid produce the dress from some part of the room which he was not able to ascertain. He was, therefore, greatly relieved upon beholding the mistress of the establishment disrobe, and put on the costume which was handed to her by the maid.
It took some time to arrange this in a satisfactory manner. Jewels, cuffs, and collar had to be added, and after some further time had been expended in adornment the lady and the maid crept noiselessly out of the room.