Miss Frayne was looking her prettiest, and her roseleaf face with its fluffy golden halo, was like a Greuze picture. She wore a frivolous little house gown of blue crêpe de chine that just matched her forget-me-not eyes. Not especially appropriate garb for a secretary, but Miss Carrington preferred her household to be well-dressed, and really commanded pretty tints and fabrics for the two girls. Pauline was in white serge, of rather severe cut, but which suited her as no frills and flounces could. Her black hair was smoothly parted and coiled low over her ears, and her clear ivory-tinted skin was flushed faintly pink from the glow of the big, crackling wood fire.
“It’s most unusual,” went on Pauline, after a few moments more had passed, and the Lady Lucy had not appeared. “I’m going up to see if she is ill,—or——”
“Or merely in a tantrum extraordinary!” said Anita, her blue eyes full of laughing disrespect for her employer.
“’Nita,” said Haviland, as Pauline disappeared, “hold your breakfast napkin up in front of your face, quick!”
“Why?” said the girl, wonderingly, as she did his bidding.
“Because, if you hadn’t, I should have flown at you and kissed you! And I mustn’t now, for Haskins is approaching with muffins.”
Down came the shielding napkin and only the arrival of the muffin-laden Haskins saved the lovely laughing face from Haviland’s impetuous caress.
The old butler fussed about, and several minutes passed, when Pauline called from above stairs, “Gray! Come here, at once!”
“Desperate case!” and Haviland rose, and unhurriedly left the room, pinching Anita’s little ear as he passed her.
Another moment and Miss Frayne heard an exclamation from Haviland that made her rise from the table and go flying upstairs herself.