s that rocked like a boat at anchor in a rough sea.
"To-morrow?"

"Yes--no, not to-morrow----"

"Yes, to-morrow. I have so much to say to you. I must call. I'll
write----"

"Good-night!" I called back ruefully.

And feeling aghast and amused and a little elated all at once, Miss
Million's maid, who had just had an offer of marriage from the manager
of Miss Million's bank, entered Miss Million's hotel, and went upstairs
to Miss Million's rooms to wait until her mistress came back from the
Thousand and One.

When I had taken off my wet outdoor things and reassumed my cap and
apron, I sat down on Miss Million's plump pink couch, stuffed one downy
cushion into the curve of my back, another into the nape of my neck, put
my slippered feet up on a _pouffe_, and prepared to wait up for her,
dozing, perhaps....

CHAPTER XIX

WAITING FOR THE REVELLER

IT was a very deep doze into which I sank. I roused myself with a start
as the little gilt clock on the mantel-piece chimed four.

I sprang up. Had Miss Million come in without waking me?

I tapped at the door of her bedroom. No reply.

I went softly in, switching on the lights. There was no one there. All
was in the apple-pie order in which I had left her pretty, luxurious
room.

She hadn't come in? At four o'clock? Wondering and troubled, I went back
to the couch and dozed again.

It was five o'clock when next I woke. Dawn struggled through the chinks
of the blinds.

No Million.

I waited, and waited.

Six o'clock in the morning. I threw aside the curtains.... Bright
daylight now. Still no Million!

Seven o'clock, and the cheery sounds of morning activity all around me.

But Million hadn't come in.

Out all night?

What could be the meaning of it?

From eight to nine-thirty this morning I have spent sitting at the
telephone in my mistress's room; feverishly fluttering the leaves of
the thick red telephone book, and calling up the numbers of people who I
have imagined might know what has become of Miss Million, the heiress,
and why she has not come home.

I turned up first of all her hostess at the Supper Club. "London's
Love," she may be; but certainly not my love. It was she who asked
Million to that horrible party.

"Give me 123 Playfair, please.... Is that Miss Vi Vassity?... Can I
speak to Miss Vi Vassity, please? It is something urgent----"

A pert and Cockney voice squeaked