By this time I had made the bed, and tumbled all reminders of the two
"sympathetic messieurs" ruthlessly into no-man's land outside the door.
Things began to look more cheerful. Lady Turnour brightened visibly; and
when appetizing smells of cooking stole through the wide cracks all
round the door she decided that, after all, she would dine.
It was not until after I had seen her descend with her husband, and had
finished unpacking, that I had a chance to think of my own affairs. Then
I did wonder on what shelf I was to lie, or on what hook hang, for the
night. I had no information yet as regarded my own sleeping or eating,
but both began to assume importance in my eyes, and I went down to learn
my fate. Where was I to dine? Why, in the kitchen, to be sure, since the
_salle a manger_ was in use as a sitting-room until bedtime. As for
sleeping--why, that was a difficult matter. It was true that the English
milord had spoken of a room for me, but in the press of business it had
been forgotten. What a pity that the chauffeur and I were not a married
couple, _n'est pas?_ That would make everything quite simple.
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