"Yes—I ought," I said.
"Well, there you are," said Miss Million complacently, getting up from the couch. "I'll dress for late dinner now. Did you think to have me cerise ironed out a bit?"
"No; and I'm afraid it's too crushed for you to wear," I said, with a great show of penitence. "I'm afraid I shall have to dress you in the cream, instead." She was ready dressed in the cream-coloured frock, with the little golden shoes; she was just going down to join her cousin in the big dining-room when she turned with a last word to put in on Mr. Brace's account.
She said: "Your Auntie would be pleased about it now."
I said: "I don't suppose I shall hear anything more about what my aunt would like me to do."
I was wrong.
For by this morning's post there has arrived a note from my aunt at Putney. Not for me. For my mistress!
The note is short enough. It is signed only "Anastasia Lovelace," and all it says is:
"Enclosed find notes to the amount of thirty pounds, being the sum advanced by you as salary to Miss Beatrice Lovelace. She will now return to Putney, bringing your receipt."
"Will," again. Will she?