"Well?" came curtly from the dressing-table.
"Well, I can't see the Carnegie Fund pinning any medals on you for the job you've taken up in this particular household," I deliberately announced, as I wormed my way into that cobweb of crêpe-de-chine. The smell of it reminded me of lilac-blossoms over a clover-field. By the time I had emerged Miss Ledwidge had turned slowly around and was staring at me.
"Perhaps," she slowly shot back at me, "I'm doing more in this house than you are aware of!"
And having smashed out that three-bagger she once more gave her attention to the cosmetic-jars on the dressing-table.
"Perhaps we all are!" I announced, just to keep her from being too contentedly sure of her ground.
But she paid no attention to that pin-prick. She didn't even seem interested. And still again I had the feeling of being flat up against a brick wall, when it came to the question of that woman's actual character.
"You'll have to take off those shoes," she announced as she came over to where I stood smoothing out my nightie. And off they came, though I stuck to my stockings, for I remembered that I had my six bank-notes cached there.
