“How dare Tonson!” she began. “I have rung four or five times! How dare she!”
The smart young footman’s manner had been formed in a good school. It was attentive, impersonal.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he answered.
“What do you mean? What does she mean? Where is she?” Feather felt almost breathless before his unperturbed good style.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he answered as before. Then with the same unbiassed bearing added, “None of us know. She has gone away.”
Feather clutched the door handle because she felt herself swaying.
“Away! Away!” the words were a faint gasp.
“She packed her trunk yesterday and carried it away with her on a four-wheeler. About an hour ago, ma’am.” Feather dropped her hand from the knob of the door and trailed back to the chair she had left, sinking into it helplessly.
“Who—who will dress me?” she half wailed.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” replied the young footman, his excellent manner presuming no suggestion or opinion whatever. He added however, “Cook, ma’am, wishes to speak to you.”