Milly, to the reverse extreme, was charmed to distraction, thrilled to the core of her and breathless—though by no means dumb. Women are never dumb with admiration.
“O sir!” she breathed in ecstasy—“it’s a real creashun!”
“Daresay,” Staff conceded sourly. “Did you find a note?”
“And the price-tag, sir—it says twen-ty five pounds!”
“I hope there’s a receipted bill, then.... Do you see anything remotely resembling a note—or something?”
With difficulty subduing her transports—“I’ll see, sir,” said Milly.
Grunting with exasperation, Staff bent over a trunk and stuffed things into it until Milly committed herself to the definite announcement: “I don’t seem to find nothing, sir.”
“Look again, please.”
Again Milly pawed the tissue-paper.
“There ain’t nothing at all, sir,” she declared finally.