It was not long before the maid showed her into her boudoir, but a much smarter-looking woman than she had been at Mrs. Rivington’s party. Claudia had contrived to make her accept one or two modish dresses without hurting her feelings or her dignity, and she had also secured her several lucrative engagements. It is needless to say that Margaret Milton’s generous heart held almost an adoration for Claudia.
“I hope I’m not late,” she said, as she came into the room, “but I had to do a little grave-digging before I could get away. Ugh! I thought the whole neighbourhood would be poisoned, the monkeys!”
Claudia laughingly inquired whose grave she had been digging.
“You must know that a favourite cat died about a month ago, and was gathered to—the other cats in limbo. I allowed the children to bury it in the back garden—quite deep—and erect a tombstone. This morning, just as I was coming out, I became aware of an awful effluvia in the house. I wondered if the drains had suddenly gone wrong, and rushed round distraught. I found it was worse at the back of the house. Then I looked out of the window and saw——”
“No!”
“Yes. They had disinterred the cat to see how ‘she was getting on.’”
After they had both laughed over the children’s enterprise, they got to work. Claudia asked her opinion about an accompanist.
“Lucy Hamilton used to accompany most sympathetically, but—no—I don’t suppose she would have decent clothes to come up in, and I daresay she may not have kept up her music.”
“Lucy Hamilton,” repeated Claudia, “not a sister of——?”
“Yes, Frank’s old-maid sister. Poor Lucy! She had such talent, and she was sacrificed to him right along.”