And a few minutes before the hour of arrival,
the gardener and the undergardener and the stableman and their wives
came in, breathless with importance; Chloe, the old colored cook,
appeared in a brand new turban and 'kerchief. Mrs. Budge, her gray hair
brushed back tighter than ever, donned her black silk which she had not
worn since young Christopher's eighteenth birthday and took her place at
the head of the line just a foot or two behind Harkness who, of course,
had the honor of opening the door.
Mrs. Budge, however, watched the service door at the end of the long
hall with fretful eyes. "That piece," she confided to Harkness, the
moment not being so important as to still her grumbling, "said she
wouldn't come in. And when I told her she could just choose t'wixt this
and the door she said she wouldn't dress up, anyways. Impertinent chit!
Thinks she's too good for the place. Things _have_ gone to sixes and
sevens--"
Harkness was holding his watch in his hand. And just as he shut it with
a significant click, a tall dark-haired girl in a plain gingham dress
slipped into the room and took her place at the end of the line, at the
same moment casting a defiant glance at the knot which adorned the back
of Mrs.
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