“That's it—she's 'Bell' too—'Miss Bell' if you please!”
The visitor looked puzzled. “Is she a—a friend?” she ventured, not sure of her ground.
“I should say she was! A friend in need! Sit here by the window, Viva—and I'll tell you all about it—as far as it goes.”
She gaily recounted her climax of confusion and weariness, and the sudden appearance of this ministering angel. “She arrived at about quarter of ten. I engaged her inside of five minutes. She was into a gingham gown and at work by ten o'clock!”
“What promptness! And I suppose there was plenty to do!”
Mrs. Porne laughed unblushingly. “There was enough for ten women it seemed to me! Let's see—it's about five now—seven hours. We have nine rooms, besides the halls and stairs, and my shop. She hasn't touched that yet. But the house is clean—clean! Smell it!”
She took her guest out into the hall, through the library and dining-room, upstairs where the pleasant bedrooms stretched open and orderly.
“She said that if I didn't mind she'd give it a superficial general cleaning today and be more thorough later!”
Mrs. Weatherstone looked about her with a rather languid interest. “I'm very glad for you, Belle, dear—but—what an endless nuisance it all is—don't you think so?”
“Nuisance! It's slow death! to me at least,” Mrs. Porne answered. “But I don't see why you should mind. I thought Madam Weatherstone ran that—palace, of yours, and you didn't have any trouble at all.”