r heads once they got away. And a lady's-maid, well,
'tisn't even the same as a parlour-maid! And you with such a nice head
of hair of your own, Miss Beatrice!" Million expostulated with almost
tearful incoherence. "A reel lady's-maid isn't required to wear a cap,
even if she does slip on an apron!"

"You shut up," I gaily commanded the employer upon whom I now depend for
my daily bread. "I am going to wear a cap. And to look rather sweet in
it."

And I did.

For when I'd spent the two quarters' salary that I'd ordered Million to
advance to me, I looked at myself in a long glass at the establishment
where they seem particularly great on "small stock sizes"--my size. I
beheld myself a completely different shape from the lumpy little bunch
of a girl that I'd been in blue serge that seemed specially designed to
hide every decent line of her figure. I was really quite as graceful as
the portrait of Lady Anastasia herself! This was thanks to the
beautifully built, severely simple gown, fitted on over a pair of
low-cut, glove-like, elastic French stays. The dead-black of it showed
up my long, slim throat (my one inheritance from my great-grandmother!),
which seemed as white as the small, impertinently befrilled apron that I
tied about my waist. The cap was just a white butterfly perched upon the
bright chestnut waves of my hair.

And the general effect of Miss Million's maid at that moment was of
something rather pretty and fetching in the stage-lady's maid line, from
behind the footlights at Daly's. I'm sorry to have to blow my own
trumpet like this, but after all it was the first time I'd ever seen
myself look so really nice. I thought it was quite a pity that there was
no one but Million and the girl in the "maids' caps department" to
admire me! Then, for some funny, unexplained reason, I thought of
somebody else who might possibly catch a glimpse of me looking like
this. I thought of the blue-eyed, tall, blonde manager of the bank where
Million has opened her account; Mr. Reginald Brace, who lives next door
to where we used to live; the honest, pleasant-voiced person whom I look
upon as such a good match for Million; the young man who's arranged to
come and have tea with her at her hotel next Thursday.

He will be the very first caller she's had since she ceased to be little
Nellie Million, the maid-of-all-work.

CHAPTER XI

AN OLD FRIEND OF THE FAMILY