Angelica now joined with the others in staring at this new one—a blonde, superior young person, tightly corseted. She sat down next to Angelica, and once more the line composed itself to waiting. A quarter of an hour went by; then the old lady with the alligator bag began whispering to her neighbor in the dark, and that started a sort of general conversation in whispers. The information was passed along the line that "she"—the first one, under the stairs—had been there two hours.
"I came here before about a month ago," whispered the one before Angelica. "She advertised, but she changed her mind and sent us all away."
Angelica was surprised at the timidity of this person who was so obviously a lady, if a rather faded one. It gave her courage. Being a lady wasn’t the whole thing, then, after all. She was on the point of answering, when once more the parlour maid hurried past, to admit an extraordinary object.
She was a tall, bony woman of perhaps fifty, dressed in a checked coat and riding-breeches, with a derby hat jammed down over her face and a confusion of red hair streaming from under it. As she crossed the hall, the last pin seemed to give way, and it all fell down about her shoulders. She made a helpless sort of gesture to put it right, found she couldn’t, and went on, with a long stride. Her face was overshadowed by her hat, but there were visible a sharp nose and a pointed chin. Her voice was unexpectedly soft and agreeable.
"Good morning!" she said. "Who’s first?"
The young blonde jumped up.
"I, please!" she said.
They were all struck dumb for a minute; then Angelica said boldly:
"You’re not!"
The lady in breeches turned her head briskly.