"Mrs. Hammond's in the kitchen."
"Oh."
For a moment, Muriel's training fought with her curiosity. Then her training conquered. She seized her rope of hair, twisted it lightly round her head, and fled downstairs with the unopened envelope.
Mrs. Hammond was alone in the kitchen writing up the menu for the day. She raised her eyebrows at Muriel's flying entrance.
"Well, dear? Oh, Muriel, what have you been doing to your hair?"
"Doing it. Oh, Mother, there's a telegram."
"For me, dear?"
"No. It's for me." She hesitated, still afraid lest her mother should consider the receipt of telegrams by her improper.
To her surprise, Mrs. Hammond took it quite calmly.
"Well, Muriel, who is it from?"