To-night I had just begun picking up the brooches, bracelets, diamond stars, coronets and bursting suns which illuminated the dressing-table firmament, when Bertie walked in again, through the door that he had left ajar.
"I came back because my necktie's a failure," said he. "My man must be in love, I should think. Probably with you! Anyhow, something's the matter; his fingers are all thumbs. But you turned out my old governor rippin'ly. You 'll do me, won't you?"
As he spoke, he untied his cravat, and produced another.
"I 'm sorry," I said. "I don't know how to do that kind of tie."
"What—what?" he stared. "It's just the same as the governor's—only a little better. Come along, there's a dear." He had pushed the door to; now he shut it.
I walked to the other end of the room, and began folding a blouse. "You'd better give your valet another trial," I said. "I 'm not a valet. I 'm Lady Turnour's maid."
"She 's in luck to get you."
"I 'm engaged to wait upon her."
"You are stiff! You do the governor's tie."
"Sir Samuel 's very kind to me."
"Well, I'll be kind, too. I'd like nothing better. I 'll be a lot kinder than he 'd dare to be. I say, I 've got a present for you—something rippin', that you 'll like. You can wear it at the ball to-night, but you 'd better not tell anyone who gave it to you—what? You
