CHAPTER VIII
Maud Ricardo invariably enjoyed her dinner after a headache had worn off, and to-night there were all the things she liked best to eat. She talked to Terry about the different dishes, and how nice it was to be able to choose what you liked without fear of growing fat. She did not notice that the butler and footman looked very pale, exchanging fearful glances and even a whispered word now and then; but Terry noticed, and wondered if there had been a domestic crisis. Perhaps, she thought, the cook had had a fit, or one of the servants had fallen downstairs. At all events, there was something strange afoot.
The two ladies went back to the drawing-room after dinner, and Maud suggested the terrace for coffee. "We shall see the moon rise," she said; "and, do you know, we can look across from our hill to Friars' Moat, and get a glimpse of the lights twinkling there. One could signal across, if one liked."
It was the butler who brought the tray, not a footman, as usual; and when Mrs. and Miss Ricardo had each taken a tiny old Dresden cup and drunk her coffee, he still hovered vaguely.
"What is it, Dodson?" Maud asked, at last awake
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