“Go away!” cried Marjorie. “Fly away, you butterfly. We’re really busy, and much flustered besides.”
“You seem to be frying everything,” commented Marguerite, teasingly. “There is a sound as of sizzling grease.”
“The crackling of grease saved Rome,” called out Hester, and Marguerite went back giggling.
But at last everything was in readiness, and not any too soon, either; for the door-bell rang a resounding peal. Hurriedly the servants confabbed as to whose place it was to go to the door. In the absence of a man-servant they concluded it was a waitress’s place; but Marguerite settled the question by remarking that, no matter whose place it was, she would go anyhow.
Nan was ensconced in the library, Helen was with Mrs. Lennox in her boudoir, and Millicent waiting in the guests’ apartments; but the eyes of the other four were peering cautiously from behind doors and portières as the pretty and audacious parlor-maid flung open the front door with an air that would have done credit to a Lord Chamberlain.
“Mrs. Lennox?” murmured the grand lady visitor, somewhat taken aback at the lovely vision confronting her.
“Yes, your ladyships,” said Marguerite’s pretty voice. “Will your ladyships enter?”
She curtsied low, then ushered the visitors into the drawing-room and presented her silver tray for cards.
“Lady Pendered and Lady Lucy Pendered,” said the elder guest, in dignified tones; and Marguerite reddened and whipped her tray behind her, wondering if she had made a mistake.
She thought she caught the echo of a giggling retreat to the kitchen, but, determined to play her part as well as she could, she tripped upstairs and announced the guests to Mrs. Lennox.