"Of the two," proceeds the garrulous spinster, "men are the most foolish under such circumstances. No!" she exclaims, contradicting herself--"when I think of it, no. I've seen ladies, high-born, and with titles, half beside themselves about Beau Brummel, distractedly quarrelling as to which should dance with him! Beau Brummel, who ended his days in a low lodging-house! Ha! ha! ha!"
There is a _soupçon_ of spleen in the tone of Miss Linton's laughter, as though she had herself once felt the fascinations of the redoubtable dandy.
"What could be more ridiculous?" she goes on. "When one looks back upon it, the very extreme of absurdity. Well," taking hold of the _cafetière_, and filling her cup, "it's time for that young lady to be downstairs. If she hasn't been lying awake ever since the people went off, she should be well rested by this. Bless me," glancing at the ormolu dial over the mantel, "it's after eleven, Clarisse," to the _femme de chambre_, still in attendance; "tell Miss Wynn's maid to say to her mistress we're waiting breakfast. _Veet, tray veet!_" she concludes, with a pronunciation and accent anything but Parisian.
Off trips the French demoiselle, and upstairs; almost instantly returning down them, Miss Wynn's maid along, with a report which startles the trio at the breakfast table. It is the English damsel who delivers it in the vernacular.
"Miss Gwen isn't in her room; nor hasn't been all the night long."
Miss Linton is in the act of removing the top from a guinea-fowl's egg, as the maid makes the announcement. Were it a bomb bursting between her fingers, the surprise could not be more sudden or complete.
Dropping egg and cup, in stark astonishment, she demands:
"That Miss Gwen hasn't slept in her room."
"But you ought to know. You're her maid--you undressed her."
"I did not, I am sorry to say," stammered out the girl, confused and self-accused; "very sorry I didn't."
"And why didn't you, Gibbons? Explain that."
Thus brought to book, the peccant Gibbons confesses to what has occurred in all its details. No use concealing aught--it must come out anyhow.
"And you're quite sure she has not slept in her room?" interrogates Miss Linton, as yet unable to realize a circumstance so strange and unexpected.