Mrs. Travis was in an easy-chair, reading. She looked up absently; then smiled.
"Good evening, Miss Denyer. How close it has been again!"
"Very. I must ask you to excuse me, Mrs. Travis, if I do these things rather awkwardly. At a moment's notice, we have lost the servant whose duty it was."
"Oh, I am only sorry that you should have the trouble. Let us lay the table together. I've done it often enough for myself. No, that's the wrong side of the cloth. I'll put these things in order, whilst you go for the rest."
Barbara looked at Mrs. Travis with secret disdain. The girl's nature was plebeian; a little arrogance would have constrained her to respect, however she might have seemed to resent it. This good-natured indifference made her feel that her preparations were thrown away. She would have preferred to see herself as a martyr.
When dinner was over and the table being cleared, Mrs. Travis spoke of Madeline.
"Does she sleep well at night?"
"Never till very late," replied Barbara.
"Does she like to be read to?"
"Oh yes—reading of certain kinds. I often read Italian poetry to her."