"Oh-h! Woo-oo!" exclaimed a voice, with a burlesque of shivering. The sylph of the blond coiffure skipped in, shrinking away playfully as she closed the door. "I say—you do chill one, you know!"
Daisy relaxed her face.
"I thought it was that old What's-his-name," she said.
"Ar, yes", the sylph had bobbed over, and was poking at her hair with a forefinger, canting and turning her head before the looking glass—trying, doubtless, to reduce her order to some semblance of Daisy's pretty disorder; "ar, yes—'e is a bit of an old nuisance, 'e is. You carn't guess what 'e's up to now".
"What?" Daisy's eyes widened.
"Arskin' the boss to take you on 'ere, as a dinin'-room girl. The boss, 'e'll do it, too. 'Im and Jim-jam's old pals—'old-timers' they calls it, among the colownials—and the 'Ogle person 'e can have any think 'e wants for the arskin'. D'you know, I shouldn't take it, if I were you".
"I'm not going to take it," said Daisy, with considerable fervor.
The sylph, pulling herself away at length from the glass, came over and sat down on the side of the bed—dangling her high heels kittenishly and eyeing Daisy up and down.
"Do you know what I should do, if I were in your boots?" she said.
Daisy's eyes came up interrogatively.