Tight enough for old Mother Jones to have done it
herself, and heaven knows she's a tight one. I am Miss Thackeray. This
is Mr. Barnes, I believe."
He bowed, still quite overcome.
"You needn't be scared," she cried, observing his confusion. "This is
my regular uniform. I'm starting a new style for chambermaids. Did it
paralyse you to find me here?"
"I must confess to a moment of indecision," he said, smiling.
"Followed by a moment of uneasiness," she added, slapping the bolster.
"You didn't know what to think, now did you?"
"I couldn't believe my eyes."
She abandoned her easy, careless manner. A look of mortification came
into her eyes as she straightened up and faced him. Her voice was a
trifle husky when she spoke again, after a moment's pause.
"You see, Mr. Barnes, these are the only duds I have with me. It
wasn't necessary to put on this hat, of course, but I did it simply to
make the character complete. I might just as well make beds and clean
washstands in a picture hat as in a low-necked gown, so here I am."
She was a tall, pleasant-faced girl of twenty-three or four, not
unlike her father in many respects. Her features were rather heavy,
her mouth large but comely, her eyes dark and lustrous behind heavy
lashes.
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