"Miss," I dictated in a whisper, "Miss Nellie Mary Million and maid." "'Ow, Miss, don't you write your name?" breathed Million gustily. "Miss——" I trod on her foot. I saw several American visitors staring at us. [Pg 64] The man said: "Your rooms are forty-five, forty-six, and forty-seven, Miss." [Pg 64] "Forty-five. Ow! Same number as at home," murmured Million. "Will you please tell me how we get?" It was one of the chocolate-liveried page-boys who showed us to our rooms—the two large, luxuriously furnished bedrooms and the sitting-room that seemed so extraordinarily palatial to eyes still accustomed to the proportions of No. 45 Laburnum Grove. What a change! What other extraordinary changes and contrasts lie before us, I wonder? We were closely followed by the newly bought trunks; one filled with ancient baggage, like a large and beautiful nut showing a shrivelled kernel; the others an empty magnificence. Million and I gazed upon them as they stood among the white-painted hotel furniture, filling the big room with the fragrance of costly leather. Million said: "Well! I shall never get enough things to fill all them, I don't s'pose." "Won't you!" I said. "We go shopping again this very afternoon; shopping clothes! And the question is whether we've got enough boxes to hold them!" "Miss!" breathed Million. I turned from the tray, full of attractively arranged little boxes and shelves, of the dress-basket. Quite sharply I said: "How often am I to tell you not to call me that?" "Very sorry, Miss Beatrice. I mean—S—Smith!" faltered Million. Her pretty grey eyes were full of tears. Her small, bonnie face looked suddenly pinched and pale. She sat down with a dump on the edge of the [Pg 65] big brass bedstead. Very forlorn, she looked, the little heiress. [Pg 65] "Sorry I was cross," I said penitently, patting my employer's hand. "It's not
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