Carol, wishing at once to impress Mrs. Clayburn with the fact that she, at least, was of a “best family,” was making a graceful curtsy, and Sylvia, having received a prompting push from her mother, did likewise.
“As you wish, my dear,” said Mr. Clayburn, smiling as though he were much amused.
“As long as this little lady is welcomed into our hearts, I’ll not be a stickler as to what outward form is observed,” he thought. Then to Sylvia he said, “Miggins, trot along upstairs and show your new sister where to put her bonnet and things.”
“I don’t want to,” the small girl said, again seating herself by the divan. “I want Mother to read to me.”
“Of course you needn’t go if you don’t want to,” Mrs. Clayburn told her.
Then she said to her husband: “Ring for Fanchon. Poor Sylvia is thin enough as it is without wearing herself out needlessly climbing up and down that long flight of stairs. We really ought to have a lift installed. They are now putting them in the homes of the b—”
But Mr. Clayburn had gone. Good-natured as he was, he was becoming extremely tired of hearing what was done in the best families.
There was a button in each room in the house, which, when touched, rang a bell in the kitchen, and the indicator informed the maid where her presence was desired, and so it was that a moment later a buxom young woman in black and white appeared in the library door. Her rosy countenance suggested that she was Irish, and in fact, when the banker’s wife had engaged her, the maid’s name had been Norah, but since the best families were employing French maids whenever they could be procured, the name had been changed to Fanchon. However, Mrs. Clayburn had warned her not to speak within the hearing of a guest, as her delightful brogue could never be mistaken.
Carol followed the silent Fanchon up the long flight of stairs that seemed velvety soft, and into a large, beautifully furnished chamber where there were twin beds. The small girl clasped her hands in delight. This, to her thought, was the kind of home in which she belonged. How happy she was going to be there!
“Will you be after changing yer dress now, colleen?” the Irish maid said pleasantly. “This here’s the one as the mistress said ye were to be wearin’ for dinner to-night.” As she spoke she took from a closet one of Sylvia’s dresses. “That child took a dislikin’ to it,” the maid went on to inform the small listener, “and not once would she be puttin’ it on. Ye’re in luck, colleen, changing this quick from gingham to red silk.”