She answered a discreet knock on the door and a maid entered with a tray. It was the gossipy maid of her first day. How she knew that she was awake Ruth could not guess.
“I thought you’d rather have breakfast in bed this morning, Miss,” and then as an afterthought, “Merry Christmas, Miss.”
“Merry Christmas— It is a Merry Christmas after all, and I would like breakfast in bed, though it makes me feel awfully lazy. How did you think of it?”
“The mistress left orders last night, but I’d thought of it anyway—after what we all went through last night—”
She shook her head and compressed her lips solemnly. Ruth looked at her, willing to be interested in anything or anybody. She could not have been much older than Ruth herself, but hard work and a coiffure composed of much false hair surmounted by a preposterously small maid’s cap, made her seem much more mature. As Ruth did not answer she went on:
“Such goings on—it’s a wonder we’re all alive to tell of it.”
“Then you didn’t like the show?” asked Ruth.
“Such things ain’t Christian, especially on the Lord’s birthday. Tell me, Miss, was it you killed it—some said it was you and some said it was the poor paralysed gentleman, who was cured so miraculous like.”
“It was Professor Pendragon. Have you seen him today?”
“Indeed, we’ve all seen him. He’s walking round all over the place, and he’s give ev-er-ey servant in the house a five dollar gold piece!”