Inside the house, things are on a parallel; there only a scullery and kitchen maid astir. The higher class servitors availing themselves of the license allowed, are still abed, and it is ten as butler, cook, and footman make their appearance, entering on their respective _rôles_ yawningly, and with reluctance.
There are two lady's-maids in the establishment--the little French demoiselle attached to Miss Linton, and an English damsel of more robust build, whose special duties are to wait upon Miss Wynn. The former lies late on all days, her mistress not requiring early manipulation; but the maid, "native and to the manner born," is wont to be up betimes. This morning is an exception. After such a night of revelry, slumber holds her enthralled, as in a trance; and she is abed late as any of the others, sleeping like a dormouse.
As her dormitory window looks out upon the back yard, the stable clock, a loud striker, at length awakes her--not in time to count the strokes, but a glance at the dial gives her the hour.
While dressing herself, she is in a flutter, fearing rebuke--not for having slept so late, but because of having gone to sleep so early. The dereliction of duty, about which she is so apprehensive, has reference to a spell of slumber antecedent--taken upon a sofa in her young mistress's dressing-room. There awaiting Miss Wynn to assist in disrobing her after the ball, the maid dropped over and forgot everything--only remembering who she was, and what her duties, when too late to attend to them. Starting up from the sofa, and glancing at the mantel timepiece, she saw, with astonishment, its hands pointing to half-past 4 a.m.!
"Miss Gwen must be in bed by this! Wonder why she didn't wake me up? Rang no bell? Surely I'd have heard it? If she did, and I haven't answered--well, the dear young lady's just the sort not to make any ado about it. I suppose she thought I'd gone to my room, and didn't wish to disturb me? But how could she think that? Besides, she must have passed through here, and seen me on the sofa!" The dressing-room is an ante-chamber of Miss Wynn's sleeping apartment. "She mightn't though,"--the contradiction suggested by the lamp burning low and dim. "Still, it _is_ strange, her not calling me, nor requiring my attendance?"