“I should think the house was full already, mamma,” remarked Gertrude Ingraham. “Where can we put her?”
“Oh, she will not mind going up to the south room in the third story, my dear. I told Jane to have it in order.”
Just then Miss Ingraham came into the house and Anna Mallison was with her.
CHAPTER XI
The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
—The Rubaiyat.
In a few moments after he had reached his room Keith Burgess heard a knock at his door. Opening it, he found a neat, white-capped maid who bore a tray; entering demurely, she placed it upon a small table, remarking that Mrs. Ingraham thought he would need refreshment. The tray held an exquisite china service for one person, a pot of chocolate, and delicate rolls and cakes.