“Gorgeous!” declared the maid, and she spoke truly. Young Loria knew his aunt’s taste, and he had sent her a typical Egyptian robe, of pale green silk, heavy with gold embroideries. In it Miss Carrington looked like one attired for a masquerade.
“Shall I take down mademoiselle’s hair?” asked Estelle, lingering.
“No. I want to be alone. I will read awhile. You need not return. I will do for myself.”
“There is your glass of milk, ma’mzelle, on the bed-table.”
“Silly! I suppose I can see it for myself.”
“Yes, ma’am. And you will have your tea at eight in the morning?”
“Of course, my tea at eight. As always. You might remember that much yourself. But nobody remembers things for my comfort.”
“Pardon, but sometimes it is eight, and, again, it must be half-past.”
“Eight! Now, will you go? You are most exasperating! Why do you stand there like a gibbering idiot?”
“The jewels, mademoiselle; the pearls? Shall I not put them in safety?”