"Come now, help me to lay the table! My cook has enough to do without that."
So I had to help her lay the table, for the saloon was the dining-room also. One had only to remove the books, porcelain vases, and china knick-knacks from the table in front of the sofa, and then cover it with the table-cloth.
I was curious to see how many she would lay for. Only for two. Two plates, two knives, forks and spoons, and two glasses.
But how about that third person, that person in the bedroom yonder? Or had I rightly interpreted that peculiar expression of hers? I was beginning to think the whole thing was pure hallucination on my part.
Suddenly the scraping of a cautiously-moved chair sounded from the boudoir.
I saw that the lady was considerably put out, and felt decidedly uncomfortable. She wrathfully pressed her lips together.
"Have you any one in the next room?" I inquired, in a stern, judicial voice.
"I have!" she replied defiantly.
"Madame!" I exclaimed, in virtuous high dudgeon.
"Would you like to know who is inside?" she cried, in an offended tone.