Mrs. Kennedy hurried away breathlessly to the grocer’s, to buy a little treat; for weren’t they going to have supper together again after all? III It was eight o’clock when Mrs. Russell came. Finding the door unlocked, she walked in without permission, as one is surely privileged to do in so mean a home. They were in the kitchen, with the water running in the sink, and they didn’t hear her come down the hall, didn’t know that she was standing in the door, watching them. "Well, are you ready?" she demanded. They both turned and regarded her with just the same look--a fine indignation, a stern surprise--Mrs. Kennedy with both hands plunged in the dish-pan, Angelica holding a dish which she was wiping. They resented the intrusion, and they showed it. "Yes, I’m ready," said Angelica slowly. She stood regarding Mrs. Russell with a steady, level gaze, not devoid of insolence, for she knew no other way to meet the careless condescension of that lady. Although she was young and lovely, and in spite of Mrs. Russell’s slovenliness and egotism, Angelica felt her own inferiority. She hadn’t what Mrs. Russell had--Mrs. Russell standing there in a dreadful green tweed suit, with a mannish sort of felt hat on her wild red hair, with her great flat feet and her mechanical smile. That manner, and above all, that voice, clear, cool, soft! Quite unconsciously, Angelica had a profound Latin admiration for _sangfroid_. She couldn’t be coolly self-possessed; couldn’t be anything more or less than rude. "Get your things on, then, won’t you please?" said Mrs. Russell. Angelica was on the point of saying that she would first finish the task in hand, but her mother pushed her gently away. "Go along!" she said. There was but one course open to a proud soul. It was essential to keep Mrs. Russell waiting as long as possible, and that Angelica did. She could hear voices from the parlour--her mother’s, subdued and monotonous, and Mrs. Russell’s, light, gay, and sweet. While she dawdled before the mirror there came a new voice, shouting reproachfully through the open front door: "Now then, Mrs. Russell! It’s late!" Angelica looked out and saw in their little hall a chauffeur in livery. Mrs. Russell was also looking out. "Very well, Courtland," she said soothingly. "Come in and get the young lady’s luggage. Where is it, please?" "Here!" said Angelica, pointing to a little pasteboard suitcase, painted to look like leather. The chauffeur regarded it in silence for a minute; then he picked it up disdainfully, swung it in the air to emphasize its lightness, and went out. "Don’t be all night!" he called back. His effrontery was amazing to Mrs. Kennedy. She couldn’t help but feel suspicious of a lady whose servants spoke to her so disrespectfully. Mrs. Russell, instead of being angry, seemed alarmed. "Make haste, please!" she said. "It’s late." She beckoned to Angelica, who followed at her heels. They went out, and the front door closed after them.