"I sent all six pairs—"
"You did nothing of the sort."
"Oh, Miss Lynn; I hope I drop dead if—"
"Don't talk back to me. You always have an excuse, haven't you?" Lilas's voice was strident; her face was dark with sudden anger. "I've a notion to box your ears—"
Lorelei broke in reprovingly. "Lilas! Croft is old enough to be your mother."
"Yes, and she's old enough to have some sense, but she hasn't got it."
"I hope I drop dead if—"
"I hope you do," snapped the indignant girl. "I told you to attend to them; now I've nothing but soiled ones."
The dresser began to weep silently. She was a small, timid old woman, upon whose manifest need of employment Lorelei had taken pity some time before. Her forgetfulness had long been a trial to both her employers.
"That's right; turn on the flood-gates," mocked Lilas, "You stop that sniveling or I'll give you something to cry for. I'm nervous enough to-night without having you in hysterics. Remember, if it ever happens again you'll go—and you'll take something with you to think about." Seizing the cleanest pair of gloves at hand, she flung out of the room in a fine fury.