There was a knock, and a respectful voice saying, outside the door, "Mr. Goodhue is below, ma'am."
"Get a needle," Mrs. Darling said, humbly, like a child reminded of its promise to behave, and waited patiently while the button was sewed on, and held out her arm again, letting Bonnet pinch without a murmur.
A final bunch of violets was tucked in the bosom of her gown, and she was leaving the bedroom, when, as if at a sudden thought, she turned back, went to the door of a little room leading from it, and stood looking in.
"Aren't they lovely, the hundred of them?" she gushed. "Did you ever see such a sight? One prettier than the other! I almost wish I were one of the little girls myself!"
"Them that gets them will be made happy, sure, ma'am. I suppose it's for some Christmas-tree?"
"They are for my cousin Dorel's orphans. Pick up, Bonny. Open the windows. Mind you keep Jetty with you. Don't let him go into the kitchen. I am sure they feed him. I shall not be very late—not later than twelve."
Mrs. Darling went down the stairs, followed by Bonnet with her mantle and fan, and Jetty, who leaped and yapped in the delusion that he was going to be taken for a walk.
The gentleman waiting below came forward to take Mrs. Darling's hand.
Mrs. Bonnet listened to the exchange of polite expressions between them with no small degree of impatience; it seemed to her they might just as well have made these communications later, in the carriage.
At last and at last they were gone. With the clap of the door behind them the whole atmosphere of the house changed as by enchantment. A door slammed somewhere; a voice burst out singing below-stairs; the man in livery who had held the door for Mrs. Darling and her reverend cousin leaned over the banisters and shouted, heartily, "Catherine! I say, Catherine!" Mrs. Bonnet fairly scampered up-stairs, with the mistaken Jetty, who thought this was the beginning of a romp, hard after her, trying to catch her by the heels.