I went up to Miss Million's chair, ignoring the blue glance of the man beside her, and said in my "professional," respectful murmur: "I have brought your dressing-bag and a suit-case, Miss——"
"Why ever didn't you bring them down yesterday?" demanded Million, all eyes and shrill Cockney accent.
"I didn't know, Miss, where I was to bring them," I replied, feeling the amused gaze of the Honourable Jim upon me as I said it.
"But, bless me! I gave the full address," vociferated Miss Million, "in that telegram!"
All the lunatics (or whatever they were) were also listening with manifest enjoyment.
"There was no address, Miss," I said, as I handed her the wire, which I still kept in my hand.
"Yes! But this was the second one I sent!" protested my mistress loudly. "This was when I was at my wit's end and couldn't think why you didn't come! I sent off that first one first thing in the morning; you ought to have got it!"
"I never did, Miss," I began.
Then a robust, rollicking voice that I confusedly remembered broke in on the discussion.
"There you are, you see! What do I always say? Never trust anything except your lookin'-glass, and not that except it's in a cross light," cried the voice gaily. "Certainly don't trust anything with trousers on! Not even if they are ragged ones and tied up with lumps of string! Not even if they do pitch you a tale about having served in the Boer War!"