But Mrs. Le Jeune, it seems, couldn’t come for some reason just then. What it was I don’t know, but at any rate she didn’t arrive until the afternoon of the day that the ball was to come off, and then she drove up in a four-wheeled cab, with a big box outside, about five o’clock.
Of course we were all sixes and sevens in the kitchen, because it was rather a small house, and we’d had to turn the best bedroom into a supper-room, and we’d had the upholsterer’s men about all day fitting it up, and draping and decorating the other rooms, and we were all topsy-turvy.
Mrs. Le Jeune, when I let her in, told me she was the new housekeeper, and asked to see missus. Missus had gone to lie down, so as to be right for the evening, and had given orders that she wasn’t to be disturbed for anybody till six o’clock, and I knew it would be bad for me if I went and woke her up; so I said to the old lady that missus was asleep; but I would show her to the room that was to be hers.
She was a queer-looking old lady, certainly. She was very short, and had a big bonnet on, and a long, black, foreign-looking cloak, and the longest nose I think I ever saw on a woman in my life, but she spoke like a lady certainly, but when she walked it almost made me laugh. It wasn’t a walk—it was a little skip, and when she moved about, it was for all the world as if she was dancing.
When I told her missus could not see her, she said, “Oh, it is very strange. Madam knew that I was coming, she should have arranged for my reception; but these City people have no manners. What’s your name, girl?”
“Mary Jane.”
“Mary Jane what?”
“Mary Jane Buffham.”
“‘Mary Jane, madam,’ you mean. Be good enough never to address me without calling me ‘madam.’”
“I beg your pardon, I didn’t know——”