“Will you kindly send for the others”—thus Brachey—“Mr. Boatwright, any other whites who may be here, and—Miss Doane.”
“Certainly not.”
“It is necessary.”
“It is not. Why are you here?”
“It is not a matter for you to decide. I must have everybody present.”
There was a rustle from the stairs. Betty, very pale, her slim young person clad in a lacy négligée gown of Japanese workmanship, very quick and light and nervously alert, came down.
“Will you please go back to your room?” cried Mrs. Boatwright.
But the girl, coming on as far as the newel post, stopped there and replied, regretfully, even gently, but firmly:
“No, Mrs. Boatwright.”
“Will you at least do us the courtesy to dress yourself properly?”