"Put them down there, Smithson," said Lady Dene, indicating a spot in front of Gladys Norman's table. "Now fetch the vases and the rest of the roses."
"The rest!" exclaimed Gladys Norman.
Lady Dene laughed. She was thoroughly enjoying the girl's bewilderment.
"He's not come yet?" she interrogated.
The girl shook her head.
"He won't be here for half-an-hour yet," she said. "He had to go down into the city."
"That will just give us time," cried Lady Dene, stooping and picking up an armful of the white roses. "You bring the red ones," she cried over her shoulder, as she passed through Malcolm Sage's door, just as Smithson entered with several purple vases.
Picking up the red roses, Gladys Norman followed the others into Malcolm Sage's room. Her feelings were those of someone constrained to commit sacrilege against her will.
"Now get some water, Smithson."
"Water, my Lady?" repeated Smithson, looking about him vaguely, as
Moses might have done in the wilderness.