She laid great stress on the first syllable of the word personal.
“They say some of these personal maids in big houses gets lovely tips—not that I want tips; I’m glad to serve some people, but a working girl’s got to take care of herself. If they was all like Miss Gilchrist life would be hard.”
She had a curious way of talking, with a rising and falling inflection, stressing unexpected words and syllables, so that in listening to her voice Ruth scarcely heard her words and forgot that she ought not to encourage servant’s gossip.
“She’s terrible homely for one thing, and I think looking at herself in the mirror has soured her disposition. She wears her hair short, and at first I thought it was toifide fever. You should seen her glare at me when I ast. You better run right down; I’ll finish unpacking for you. You look too sweet; clothes ain’t everything.” With which doubtful compliment ringing in her ears, Ruth passed out, but instead of “running right down” she knocked at Gloria’s door. She had the feeling that if they were to walk down and meet Professor Pendragon face to face she wanted to be with Gloria. She had a vague fear that Gloria might faint, and she wanted to be there to bear her up. Gloria was herself all ready for descent, but she had changed her travelling costume for a charming frock. Hunger had doubtless prompted speed and a theatrical woman’s facility had aided her. She looked stunning, Ruth thought, and her heart swelled with pride at the thought that at least her Gloria was looking her very best for the encounter.
“Afraid to go down alone?” Gloria asked. “You needn’t be; you’re looking ducky. I hope she has a millionaire for you to meet, but no such luck. That would spoil ‘our Bohemian circle.’”. She mimicked Angela’s gurgling voice perfectly. “I dare say those hungry brutes of men are waiting now—if they have the grace to wait, which I doubt; I could eat almost anything myself.”
Angela, having done her conventional duty by not meeting them at the door, now yielded to her emotions and ran halfway up the stairs to meet them, hurling herself into Gloria’s arms and even kissing Ruth on the cheek to make her feel that she was welcome and really belonged.
“Come on, we’re having breakfast in the sun parlour; it’s the loveliest room in the house. Every one is waiting. I’ve only two other guests, and I didn’t tell them who was coming. You’ll be such a welcome surprise,” she gurgled.
“We will, indeed,” thought Ruth.
“This is the library,” she waved her hand at an enormous room with gloomy furniture, the door of which was open. “Cosy little place, don’t you think? But here—”
She paused dramatically before she threw open the door of the sun parlour. She was after all such a fluffy, good-hearted child that her pride in her possessions was no more offensive than the pride of a child in new toys, and Ruth couldn’t blame her for being proud of the room they entered. They all stood at the open door looking at it a moment before entering—a long, narrow room, evidently running the full length of the house from north to south, with two sides of glass, window after window with drawn-back draperies of amber silk, and between each window a bird cage, hung above a tall blue vase filled with cut flowers. At one end of the room the breakfast table was spread and at the other, where there were no windows, was a fireplace, round which the men were standing—Terry, Prince Aglipogue and John Peyton-Russell. There was a lady seated there, too, and in another big, wing chair Ruth thought she could discern the top of Professor Pendragon’s head.