“Who’s there?” she called, as heavy steps approached.
Mrs. Porter had hoped that Millicent’s unnatural calm would give way when unburdening herself to her old chum, Dorothy Deane, and she had made opportunities to leave the girls together. But she was not aware that Dorothy had shown an equal desire to avoid the topic of the tragedy, and Millicent found to her secret relief that she was not urged to confidences which she might later bitterly regret. But that afternoon she had felt the need of being by herself, and had fled upstairs, hoping her mother would not think of looking for her in the attic.
Millicent pulled a chair close to her side and was on the point of rising from her cramped position before the trunk when she heard someone coming up the uncarpeted stairs. She slammed the ledger shut and thrust it among the silks and laces in the trunk, and, pulling out a vanity box, commenced powdering her nose and removing all traces of recent tears.
“Who’s there?” she called, as heavy steps approached.
“Me, Miss Millicent.”
“Oh, Murray!” Her tone spoke her relief. “Have you brought the coffee and sandwiches I told Selby to order for me?”
“Yes, miss.” And the footman emerged from behind the highboy which, with a Japanese screen, partly blocked the view of the cozy corner from the rest of the attic.
“Just put the tray on my desk,” directed Millicent. “Has mother gone out?”
“Yes, miss; she took Miss Dorothy in to Washington.” Murray moved several of the desk ornaments to make room for the tray. “These ladies called just now, Miss Millicent, but I said you were out.” And he handed her a number of visiting-cards.