Some one tapped at the door; Lydia, the smiling housemaid, appeared; she looked at the two girls with a sort of parental expression; she was very fond of them both, and never minded how late or how hard she worked to do little extra jobs for either of them. It was her greatest pride to stay in when her “evening out” came and help June label the little mauve pots; she recommended the famous cream to all her friends; she was as proud of it as if it were her own invention.
She carried a note on a tray now, which she handed to Esther.
“I found it on the hall table, Miss,” she said. “It must have been left by messenger.”
She waited a moment to make up the fire and tidy the hearth; she was always glad of an excuse to stay in the room; she was never tired of telling her friends what a pretty room it was––she loved the mauve cushions and the many photographs.
She went away with a reluctant backward look. June yawned.
“Another love-letter?” she asked chaffingly. She looked 99 across at Esther, and was surprised to see the embarrassment in the girl’s face.
“It’s from Mr. Harley,” she said, in distress. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve never let him think I–––” She handed the letter to June. “He wants me to go to a theatre with him,” she added in confusion.
“Well, I should go,” said June promptly. “You don’t get much fun, and the man knows you’re engaged, and if he likes to chance it–––”
“But how does he know I’m engaged? I’ve never told him.”
“I did,” June said calmly. “I saw the way the wind was blowing and told him to save complications.” She made a little grimace at Esther. “And after this note are you still going to declare that he isn’t more than ordinarily interested? Esther, you’re the most unsuspecting baby––– Say you’ll go, of course. There’s no harm in it.”