“Where’s that stupid old Pikey?” she said. In her manner of pressing the bell Girlie felt there was something magnificent. “She ought to be here rooting me out some clothes for this evening.”
“I suppose,” said Girlie dismally, yet heroically suppressing her tears, “I must leave this room now.”
“Oh, no.” There was a regal indifference to the room even if it was King Edward’s. “There’s one next door will do for me. But I must have something to put on this evening.” She pressed the bell again just as Pikey entered, half truculent, half scared.
Girlie was still in awe of the Werewolf. Even the partial collapse of Pikey under the stress of events did not allow the Deputy to get on terms with her. But Elfreda’s method of handling the creature was almost an education. In the sight of her lawful charge she counted for rather less than nobody.
“Pikey, what am I to wear this evening?” At the moment this was the question of questions for Elfreda.
“There’s nothing you can wear,” Pikey muttered dismally.
“Nothing? Don’t be absurd. I know you packed at least five evening dresses.”
Pikey flashed a savage glance at Miss Cass.
“She’s worn them all,” said Pikey in a tone of shameful confession.
“Of course. Why not?” said a very polite and very prompt Elfreda. No one likes other people wearing one’s clothes, but Pikey’s implication that their patrician owner would never be able to use them again was a little too much. It was one more barb for Miss No-Class.