She heard a knock on the door.
“Who’s there?” she called drowsily.
“It’s the maid, miss. Mrs. Lawson thought you might be wanting your breakfast now.”
Dorothy looked at her wrist watch. The hands marked ten-thirty. She jumped out on the rug, which felt cold and clammy under her bare feet, went to the door and unlocked it. Then she scampered back to bed and snuggled under the warm covers.
In walked a trim little figure wearing the small white apron and gray uniform of a chambermaid. Dorothy saw a round merry face, and a pair of big blue eyes beneath the white lawn cap, and thick flaxen braids were coiled round the neat head. She was surprised and somehow pleased to discover that this attractive member of the household staff could not be much more than sixteen, just her own age.
The little maid shut the door softly, crossed to the window and closed it, turned on the steam heat and came to the bedside. “Good morning, Miss Jordan.” She smiled engagingly. “I’m Gretchen, miss. Will you have your breakfast in bed?”
“Why, thank you, Gretchen—that will be cozy. But if it’s going to give you any trouble, don’t bother.” With the covers drawn up to her eyes, Dorothy smiled back at the girl.
“Oh, no, miss—it’s no trouble at all.” Gretchen was insistent. “It’s all ready now. I’ll run down and bring it up.”
She whisked out of the room and Dorothy rolled over for another cat-nap.
“If you’ll be good enough to sit up now, Miss Jordan—I have your breakfast here.”