"Mrs. Mounteagle has called to see you," says a voice in the doorway, when Rover's toilet (which has occupied a full half-hour) is eventually completed.
"Oh! show her in."
"But," with a glance at Mr. and Mrs. Grebby, "if you please, ma'am, she asked to speak to you alone."
Eleanor closes the folding doors between her boudoir and the library.
"You stay here, darlings," she says in a soft, cooing voice, "and I will see Giddy in the next room. Come on, Rover—down, old boy—your wet paws have done damage enough to my gown for one morning."
Still whistling, Eleanor saunters into Giddy's presence, her eyes as radiant as stars, her lips parted in joyous greeting.
"You dear thing," she cries, "to come and see me, when you must be so busy, pinning bits of drapery over your doors, and heaping flowers into enormous vases. Can I come in and help? I am splendid at decorations, you know," remembering Giddy's cynical remarks on her artistic efforts, and laughing merrily.
"No, dear, all is prepared," speaking in funeral tones. "But——"
"Well?"
Giddy's eyes shift uneasily. Then she speaks straight out: "I can't have your people! My dear child, it would be madness—positive madness, both to yourself and to me. There, there, don't look so blank; one would think I had suggested murdering good Mrs. Grebby and her dear fat husband. Can't you see it, Eleanor? You have a good position in Richmond, and you want to take it and fling it into the river, as it were. You want to flaunt your parentage at my party before everyone."