"Oh, my dear, isn't it too sweet of you to come so punctually? Never did I need anybody more. I always say I'll be down by nine-thirty sharp. Mrs. Brockett, I say, you can come into the morning-room at nine-thirty precisely. I shall be there. But I never am, you know. Never. Well, my dear, I am glad to see you. Come and give me a kiss."
Millie stepped carefully over the underclothing, found herself warmly encircled, two very wet and emphatic kisses implanted on her cheek and then a voice hissing in her ear—
"I do want us to be friends, I do indeed. We shall be, I know."
There was a little pause because Millie did not know quite what to say. Then Miss Platt made some masculine strides towards a rather faded rocking-chair, swept from it a coat and skirt and pointing to it said:
"There, sit down! I'm sure you must be wanting a rest after your journey."
"Journey!" said Millie laughing, "I haven't had a journey! I've only come from Baker Street."
"Why, of course," said Miss Platt, "it was another girl altogether who was coming from Wiltshire. I didn't like her, I remember, because she had a slight moustache, which father always told us implied temper." She stood back and regarded Millie.
"Why, my dear, how pretty you are! Aren't you the loveliest thing ever? And that little hat! How well you dress!" She sighed, struggling with her corsets. (The kimono was now a dejected heap upon the floor.) "Dress is so easy for some people. It seems to come quite naturally to them. Perhaps my figure's difficult. I don't know. It's certainly simpler for slim people."
"Oh, do let me help you," cried Millie, jumping up. She came over to her and in a moment the deed was done.