"I like new things to amuse myself with," she informed Joy. "Now
you'll send the maids in."
Joy did not like any of this. And she found herself more and more
certain that she did not like Gail Maddox.
"If she has all those lovers," she thought resentfully, like a
child, "why doesn't she stay home and play with them instead of
coming over here where we were perfectly happy without her?"
But she was too proud to do anything about it, so instead of going
up to Mrs. Hewitt's bedroom to appeal to Caesar she went to the
kitchen without further comment, and informed the maids that Mrs.
Hewitt had decided Miss Maddox was to have charge for the day.
The lively chorus of growls with which this was received cheered
Joy's unregenerate heart. She did not stay to either soothe or
encourage the rebellion.
"I've told the maids," she said colorlessly to Gail, returning.
"Good infant," said Gail, and proceeded to gather the flowers out of
the vases where Joy had herself arranged them a half-hour before,
and rearrange them.
Joy watched her for a minute or so. Then--"You aren't going to need
me?" she asked with a misleading quietness. "Because if you aren't
I--I have something to do for a little while."
"Not a bit. Run along," granted Gail. "I'll have some toil ready for
you when you get back, if you like."
Joy was like the lady in the poem, who died in such a hurry.
"She did not stop to don her coat,
She did not stop to smooth her bed.
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