in my voice: "Yes! That'll do. And
the little shoes to match. And two dozen of these. And put that with the
others. I will have them all sent together." What did money matter, when
it came to ordering an outfit for a millionairess?

I grew positively intoxicated with the mad joy of choosing clothes under
these conditions. Isn't it the day-dream of every human being who wears
a skirt? Isn't it "what every woman wants?" A free hand for a trousseau
of all new things! To choose the most desirable, to materialise every
vision she's ever had of the Perfect Hat, the Blouse of Blouses, and to
think "never mind what it costs!"

And this, at last, had fallen to my lot. I quite forgot that I was not
the millionairess for whom all this many-coloured and soft perfection
was to be sent "home"--"to the Hotel Cecil, I'll trouble you." I only
remembered that I was the millionairess's maid when one of the
black-satin duchesses, in the smartest hat shop, informed me that I
"could perfectly wear" the little Viennese hat with the flight of
jewelled humming-birds, and I had had to inform her that the hat was
intended for "the other lady."

"We'll do a little shopping for me, now," I decided, when we left that
hat-shop divinity with three new creations to pack up for Miss Million
at the Cecil. I said: "I'm tired of people not knowing exactly what I
am. I'm going to choose a really 'finished' kit for a superior
lady's-maid, so that everybody shall recognise my 'walk in life' at the
first glance!"

"Miss! Oh, Miss Beatrice, you can't," protested Million, in shocked
tones. "You're never going to wear--livery, like?"

"I am," I declared. "A plain black gown, very perfectly cut, an
exquisite muslin apron with a little bib, and a cap like----"

"Miss! You can't wear a cap," declared little Million, standing stock
still at the top of Bond Street and gazing at me as if I had planned the
subversion of all law and order and fitness. "All very well for you to
come and help me, as you might say, just to oblige, and to be a sort of
companion to me and to call yourself my maid. But I never, never
bargained for you, Miss Beatrice, to go about wearing no caps! Why,
there's plenty of young girls in my own walk of life--I mean in what
used to be my own walk! Plenty of young girls who wouldn't dream of
being found drowned in such a thing as a cap! Looks so menial, they
said. Several of the girls at the Orphanage said they'd never put such a
thing on thei