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288 disappearance. Or, if even with her friends, Cousin Catherine clings to conventionalities, and pretends that I 'm visiting somewhere by her consent, people are almost certain to scent a mystery, for mysteries are popular.

"If that duchess woman sees me, she 'll write to Cousin Catherine at once," I thought. "Or I would n't put it past her to telegraph!"

("Put it past" is an expression of Cousin Catherine's own, which I always disliked; but it came in handy now.)

I tried to console myself, though, by reflecting that, if I were careful, I ought to be able to avoid the duchess. The ways of great ladies and little maids lie far apart in grand houses and ⸺

"There is going to be a servants' ball to-morrow night," announced Lady Turnour, while my thoughts struggled out of the slough of despond. "And I want you to be the best dressed one there, for my credit. We 're all going to look on, and some of the young gentlemen may dance. The marquise and Miss Nelson say they mean to, too, but I should think they are joking. I may not be a French princess nor yet a marquise, but I am an English lady, and I must say I should n't care to dance with my cook, or my chauffeur."

Her chauffeur would be at one with her there! But I could think of nothing save myself in this crisis. "Oh, miladi, I can't go to a servants' ball!" I exclaimed.

She bridled. "Why not, I should like to know? Do you consider yourself above it?"

"It isn't that," I faltered. (And it wasn't; it was that duchess!) "But—but ⸺" I searched for an excuse. "I have n't anything to wear."