"Really!" I murmured interestedly. "But tea is a meal with me."
There was a pause. I could hear Amelia singing, "Now we shan't be long," which meant she was reaching out the best tea-things. The best tea-things appear to uplift her in a curious way. Perhaps by using them she feels we are gradually rising to the social status of the Tompkinses, who had an "at home" day with netted d'oyleys, and tea handed round by Amelia herself on a silver salver.
I wondered if Mrs. Cobbold could hear her singing. I felt sure she would strongly disapprove of any maid indulging in such vocal flights, and in spite of myself I laughed. Our eyes met: hers were green and hard, and in their depths I discovered that she disapproved of the mistress more than of the singing maid.
I smiled again—I couldn't help it; and then I racked my brain for something interesting and polite to say.
Mrs. Cobbold forestalled me.
"When is it expected? if I may venture to ask you."
"In about ten minutes."
"Gracious goodness!" she ejaculated, springing heavily to her feet.
"Whatever's the matter?" I cried, nearly falling off the couch.
"I thought—I was led to understand that——" she stammered and broke off.