There was a knock at the door, and she flew across the room, alarmed. Who knew what customs these rich people had? A little clock told her that it was just ten; she was sure they didn’t go to bed then. She knew, indeed, from the Sunday papers, that they turned night into day. Perhaps they had a meal now, and she was expected to be ready for it.
"What is it?" she asked, through the closed door.
"Mrs. Russell wants you at once in her room," said a sharp voice.
So she put on her shrunken, faded little kimono and went out into the hall. A light burned there, showing a double row of closed doors. In what possible way was she to know Mrs. Russell’s? She was daunted; she didn’t even know who composed the household; couldn’t imagine who might be behind those closed doors.
There wasn’t a sound in the house. She advanced a little, and stopped again, frowning at her own distress, her own fast-beating heart.
"I’m only doing what I’m paid to do!" she reassured herself. "If I can’t find her, I’m a fool. I will! I’ll knock at every single door!"
She began with a firm rap on the door next her own. There was no response, so she tried the next, and at once that agreeable voice called out:
"Come in!"
Mrs. Russell lay in bed with her eyes closed, in a lace cap and negligée. Her little rose-shaded lamp gave only a dim light, by which she looked oddly young and pretty; even her tousled hair was charming. The rest of the big room was shadowy, with here and there a glint from glass or silver.
There was absolute silence; Mrs. Russell didn’t stir. Angelica felt herself at a great disadvantage in her kimono, standing at the bedside, waiting for orders. It nettled her.