“I have a headache,” said Ethel. “That midnight supper didn’t agree with me.”
“Why you didn’t eat anything.”
“No, but I can’t sit up late and feel good for anything in the morning. I suppose Minerva feels the same as I do.”
“Yes, but as she is paid to forget her feelings, I suppose she’ll get up and get breakfast.”
“Do you mind calling her?” asked Ethel, and again donning my dressing gown I went to the foot of the stairs and called,
“Minerva! Minerva, it’s half past eight o’clock.”
No answer.
I went up stairs and stood outside her door.
“Minerva, it’s time to get up. I know you must be sleepy, but it’s half past eight.”
“Mist. Vernon,” came a languid response, “I don’ feel like I could cook this morning, I’m so tired.”