"I'm sorry to interrupt you," said Beulah, laying a scrap of silk on the arm of her chair, "but this is the nearest I can get to the stuff you gave me to match."
"Well, it won't do," said Mrs. Haddington, contemptuously flicking the scrap with one pointed, blood-red fingernail. "Really, I should have thought you could have seen that for yourself!"
"I did, but I thought I'd better bring you a sample of it. And caviare is the same price everywhere."
"I sometimes wonder what I pay you for!" remarked Mrs. Haddington.
Beulah flushed, and folded her lips.
"Exactly what I have always said!" remarked Miss Pickhill. "What a healthy woman of your age, Lily, wants with a secretary, or whatever Miss Birtley calls herself, to run her errands for her is more than I can fathom. Caviare, indeed! More of your grand parties, I suppose! Enough to make poor Father turn in his grave!"
"That will do!" Mrs. Haddington said, dismissing Beulah.
"Will you want me any more today?" Beulah asked.
Mrs. Haddington hesitated. She was taking a party to the theatre, and dining afterwards at London's newest and smartest restaurant, so that there really was nothing at all for her secretary to do. "No, you can go," she said at last. "And please don't be late in the morning!"
"I never am," replied Beulah. "Good-night!"