Ain't no time for foolin',
dis ain't."
Johnnie debated a moment. A servant's livery--but Deanie was sick
and--. With a sudden, impulsive movement, and somewhat to Cassy's
surprise, Johnnie followed into the pantry, seized the proffered cap and
apron and proceeded to put them on.
"I've got to see Miss Sessions," she repeated, more to herself than to
the negress. "Maybe what I have to say will only take a minute. I reckon
she won't mind, even if she has got company. It--well, I've got to see
her some way." And taking the tray of frail, dainty cups and saucers
Cassy brought her, she started with it to the parlour.
The music was just dying down to its last wail when Gray looked up and
caught sight of her coming. His mind had been full of her. To him
certain pieces of music always meant certain people, and the Serenade
could bring him nothing but Johnnie Consadine's face. His startled eyes
encountered with distaste the cap pinned to her hair, descended to the
white apron that covered her black skirt, and rested in astonishment on
the tray that held the coffee, cream and sugar.
"Begin here," Cassie prompted her assistant, and Johnnie, stopping,
offered her tray of cups.
Gray's indignant glance went from the girl herself to his hostess. What
foolery was this? Why should Johnnie Consadine dress herself as a
servant and wait on Lydia Sessions's guests?
Before the two reached him, he turned abruptly and went into the
library, where Miss Sessions stood for a moment quite alone.
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