"My God!" cried Trotter's employer, straightening her figure and facing the other. Something like horror sounded in her cracked old voice. "Could—my God!—could it be possible?"
"Speak plainly! What do you mean?"
Mrs. Millidew, the elder, advanced her mottled face until it was but a few inches from that of her daughter-in-law.
"Where were you last night?" she demanded harshly.
There was a moment of utter silence. Trotter, down below, caught his breath.
Then, to his amazement, Mrs. Millidew the younger, instead of flying into a rage, laughed softly, musically.
"Oh, you are too rich for words," she gurgled. "I wish,—heavens, how I wish you could see what a fool you look. Go back, quick, and look in the mirror before it wears off. You'll have the heartiest laugh you've had in years."
She leaned against the railing and continued to laugh. Not a sound from Mrs. Millidew, the elder.
"Do come up a few steps, Trotter," went on the younger gaily,—"and have a peep. You will—"
The other found her voice. There was now an agitated note, as of alarm, in it.