"That's different. I say it with my own meanin', and generally to pet out of doin' somethin' I don't want to do. But I'm growin' younger each minute. Perhaps"—she chuckled softly to herself—"it's my second childhood."
They came to the door, and it was opened by James—stiff, correct, funereal.
"No," almost groaned Drusilla; "there's James. Now I know I'm dead and only waitin' for the buryin'."
CHAPTER V
Drusilla grew more and more to feel that she was a part of her little world, where everything revolved around her and her wishes were law. It was only natural that she gained confidence in herself. She lost her awe of the servants, and even found courage to speak shortly to James, who, she learned from Jeanne, was relegating most of his duties to William, thinking Miss Doane would not know the difference.
But after the excitement of the first few weeks was past she found the time heavy on her hands. She had no duties, she did not read, there was no sewing nor mending for her, and she could not always work in the conservatories among the flowers; consequently she began to long for something with which to occupy her thoughts and, above all, her hands.
One morning when she was wandering aimlessly around the house she went into the pastry room. There she looked in delight at all the shining pans and the bowls arranged in graduated sizes on their shelves.
"My, ain't it nice, and everything so handy!"
She looked around for a minute; then a thought began to take shape in Drusilla's mind. She looked at the chef thoughtfully; then, evidently deciding, she gave her head a little toss and with a light laugh left the room, soon to return with a big gingham apron covering her pretty dress. The chef looked at her inquiringly.