"I'm sure it's not the go of Society to have in the lady's-maid to help amuse the visitors. Not in the drawing-room, at all events."
"But if I ask you——"
"If you ask me to do things that are 'not my place,' Miss Million," I said firmly, "I shall give you notice. I mean it."
This awful threat had its effect.
Million heaved one more gusty sigh, cast one more reproachful glance at her rebellious maid, and dropped the subject.
Thank goodness!
I shall miss this weird and unparalleled party, but I shall hear all about it at second-hand after that amazingly contrasted couple of young men has departed.
It's ten minutes to four now.
I have "set the scene" perfectly for this afternoon's festivity. A hotel sitting-room can never look like a home room. But I've done my best with flowers, and new cushions, and a few pretty fashion journals littered about; also several new novels that I made Million buy, because I simply must read them. Yes, I've arranged the room. I've arranged the carnations. (I hope Mr. Burke will think they look nice.) I've arranged the tea; dainty Nile-green cakes from Gunter's, and chocolates and cigarettes. I've arranged the trembling little hostess.
"Good-bye, Miss Million," I said firmly, as I prepared to depart. "You needn't be nervous; you look very nice in the white French muslin with the broad grey-blue ribbon to match your best feature, your eyes. Very successful."