"But they do. It must have been written by some one that is inside the social ring; and there is a good deal in the style that is like her other books. I do wish," she went on, with a note of vexation in her voice, "that Graham would ever forget to mix up my two tea-services. He is a perfect genius for forgetting anything he ought to remember."
She walked, as she spoke, to the bell, and as she passed May the girl sprang impulsively toward her, catching both her hands.
"Oh, Mrs. Harbinger!" she cried breathlessly. "I must tell you something before anybody comes."
"Good gracious, May, what is it now? You are as impulsive as a pair of bellows that could blow themselves."
The butler came ponderously in, in reply to her ring as she spoke, and the two women for the moment suspended all sign of emotion.
"Graham," Mrs. Harbinger said, with the air of one long suffering and well-nigh at the end of her patience, "you have mixed the teacups again. Take out the tray, and bring in the cups with the broad gold band."
Graham took up the tray and departed, his back radiating protest until the portière dropped behind him. When he was gone Mrs. Harbinger drew May down to a seat on the sofa, and looked at her steadily.
"You evidently have really something to tell," she said; "and I have an idea that it's mischief. Out with it."
May drew back with heightened color.
"Oh, I don't dare to tell you!" she exclaimed.