the one in the red wig and yellow frock covered with paste or diamonds?"
(If she could have heard the description! It was Lady Turnour, in her gold tissue, her Bond Street jewellery shop, and, my charge, her beautifully undulated, copper-tinted transformation.)
"Yes, I see her," I said faintly, as we waltzed past; and I wondered why she was glaring.
"I suppose you did n't notice me doin' the first dance with her? Well, I asked her because they said we 'd all got to invite servants to begin with, and as the best were snapped up before I got a chance, I walked over to her like a man. Give you my word, where all are dressed like duchesses, I took her for a cook."
I laughed so much that I shook my feet out of time with the music.
"Did you treat her like a cook, too?" I gurgled. "Ask her to give you her favourite recipe for soup?"
"Heaven forbid, no. I treated her like a countess. One would a cook, you know. It was afterward I got into the hot water. I popped her down in a seat when we 'd scrambled through a turn or two of the dance, and that was all right; but instead of stoppin' where she was put, she must have stood up with some other poor chap when my back was turned, and been plamped down somewhere else. Anyhow, I danced the end of the waltz with the Marquise de Roquemartine, when she 'd finished doin' the polite to the butler, and when we sat down to breathe at last, for the sake of somethin' to say I asked if the fat lady in yellow was her own cook, or a visitor's cook. Anyhow, I was certain of the cook: fancied myself on
