Claudia felt a strong desire to laugh. Then she heard a voice singing in a room on her right. It seemed to be the door the servant had indicated. The voice was untrained, but of a good quality, sweet and rather high-pitched.
“I’m good little Lucy who lives in the dell,
And what I don’t know is——”
The rest seemed somehow smothered and she could not catch the words.
Claudia tapped at the door in considerable embarrassment. Would she have to announce herself, and what would she say?
She pushed open the door gently and she saw a most remarkable sight, nothing less than a pair of exquisitely shaped little legs and feet in white silk tights that seemed to belong to a frilly pink lampshade. That was Claudia’s first impression, and then she saw that someone had her back to her, delving down into a huge trunk. Her second impression was that she had never seen a room that was so blue! There were pale blue curtains, wall-paper and bed-spread, blue flowers on the carpet and satin bows everywhere.
“Is that you, Madam Rose?” said a voice from the depths, which was rough and unrefined, but was not Cockney. “Half a jiff. I can’t find my pink shoes and——”
“I beg your pardon,” said Claudia, standing in the doorway, “but I am not Madame Rose. The maid did not——”
Claudia had just time to catch a glimpse of a piquant little face with great surprised blue eyes, when there was a cry of pain. The lid of the trunk, a heavy, clamped one, had descended on the small hand.
“Oh, gracious!” said the ballet-like person, hopping about holding her hand; “oh! that damned trunk! Ouch! My goodness! it’s nearly broken my knuckles.”