"Yes, miladi."
"Have you got any dancing slippers?"
"No—that is—I don't know—"
"Don't be stupid. I will give you ten francs to buy yourself a pair of red stockings and red slippers to match. The stockings needn't be silk. They won't show much. Dane can take you in the car to Clermont-Ferrand this afternoon. I want you to be all right, from head to feet—different from any of the other maids."
I didn't doubt that I would be different—very different.
Tap, tap, a knock at the door.
"Ontray!" cried her ladyship.
The door opened. Mr. Herbert Stokes stood on the threshold.
"I say, Lady T—" he began, when he saw the scarlet vision, and stopped.
"What is it?" inquired the wife of his stepfather—rather a complicated relation.