“Yes,” said Lady Bell, turning with the door in her hand; “like Jack Newcombe,” and she ran up to her room.
Punctual to the minute, Laura Treherne knocked at the door of the dressing-room. Lady Bell was seated before the glass, surrounded by her walking clothes, which, as was her custom, she had slipped out of or flung carelessly aside.
Without a word Laura picked them up and put them in the wardrobe, and without a word took up the hair brushes. Lady Bell watched her in the glass, and gave her a hint now and then, and when her hair was dressed glanced round approvingly.
“Yes,” she said, “that is very nice; and you have not hurt me once. The last maid used to pull me terribly. I suppose she was thinking of her young man. By the way, are you engaged?”
The dark face flushed for a moment, then grew pale.
“No, my lady.”
“I’m glad of it. Take my advice and don’t be. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it. Now you want to know what I am going to wear. I don’t know myself. What would you choose? Go to the wardrobe.”
Laura went to the wardrobe, and came back after a minute or two with a dress of black satin and lace looped up with rosebuds of the darkest red. It was one newly arrived from Worth.
Lady Bell nodded.
“Yes, that just suits me. Give me a lady for good taste! And now choose the ornaments. There is the jewel-box.”