Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the drawing-room floor, Billy tripped up-stairs to change her dress. On her lips was a gay little song. In her heart was joy.
“I rather guess now I'm tending to my husband and my home!” she was crowing to herself.
Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled again.
It was Alice Greggory.
“Billy, dear,” she called, “can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr. Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you. Will you come?”
“I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me. I've got some housewifely duties to perform to-day,” returned Billy, in a voice so curiously triumphant that Alice, at her end of the wires, frowned in puzzled wonder as she turned away from the telephone.
CHAPTER XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never knew the meaning of the word “chaos” until he had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately following the laying away of his old servant.
“Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension,” he declared; “and there was never any telling when the next grand upheaval would rock the whole structure to its foundations.”