Lady Despard laughed indolently.
“Oh, as to that, of course it isn’t worth it,” she said, with a candor which must have rather discomfited the man. “Nothing one buys ever is worth the money, you know; but one must go on buying things; there’s nothing else to do. Yes, I’ll have it,” she added to the man, and drew Doris away.
“Now, I’ve kept you with your things on quite long enough,” she said. “You shall go upstairs. I’ve got some people coming to tea—it’s my afternoon—but you needn’t come down unless you like; I dare say you’ll be glad to rest.”
Doris was about to accept the suggestion thankfully, but, remembering her new position, said:
“I am not tired; I shall come down, Lady Despard.”
“Very well, then,” said her ladyship, touching an electric bell. “Send Miss Marlowe’s maid, please.”
A quiet, pleasant-looking maid came to the door, and Doris followed her through the hall, and up a winding staircase of carved pine, and into a daintily-furnished room.
The maid brought her a cup of tea, and leaving Doris to rest for half-an-hour, returned to show her down to the drawing-room.
As they made their way to it, Doris heard the sound of a piano and the hum of voices, and, a footman opening the door, she saw that the room was full of people.
She made her way, with some little difficulty, to Lady Despard, who was seated at a small table, evidently merely pretending to superintend a tea-service, for the footman was handing around cups supplied from something outside, and more capacious than the tiny kettle on the table, and her ladyship looked up and smiled a pleasant little welcome.