She supposed that she was to be allowed to leave the room; but she had quite half an hour’s work still to do. She had to brush and braid Mrs. Russell’s short, curly hair; she had to go down-stairs again and fetch a bottle of spring water from the ice-chest; she had to put away dozens of things, and then to set out on the table lip-salve, cold cream, and some sort of medicine; and then to pull up the blinds, put out the light, and grope her way out in the dark. She was in the habit of going to bed very much earlier; yet, once more in her own room, she didn’t feel at all sleepy. She lay stretched out on the bed, with her hands clasped under her head, meditating about Mrs. Russell, who was altogether outside her experience, and the blond young man with the little mustache. She wondered who he was. "Her son, I guess," she reflected. "Anyway, he’s pretty cross to her. I wouldn’t put up with it, if I was her. One of these rich young fellers, he is, and as spoiled as can be!" Then she didn’t think about him any more; he was no longer the possible hero of her romance. He was so obviously not for her. Her beauty, her impudence, would never impress him. Her mind dwelt for an instant with a sort of shadowy regret upon his nice young face; then the current of her thought changed, and ran back into the channel it had made for itself--that of speculating upon her own future. "My first night in this house!" she said. "I wonder what’s going to happen to me here?" She couldn’t invent or imagine anything. Certainly she couldn’t even dimly foresee the truth. CHAPTER FIVE I Angelica awoke early the next morning and dressed quickly, determined to be ready before Mrs. Russell could possibly send for her. She needn’t have hurried; she waited from half-past six until half-past eight without hearing a sound. Time after time she opened her door and stepped out into the hall, to find it always empty and silent. Finally she could tolerate it no longer, she was so much afraid that something was expected of her, that she was betraying her awful ignorance of rich people’s habits. She decided to go down-stairs, find a servant, and make diplomatic inquiries about the daily procedure. As she was going along the hall, who should come out of his room, directly in her path, but the blond young man. "Er--good morning," he said, with a slight frown. "Good morning!" Angelica answered, and in her desperation added: "Say, would you mind telling me, when does _she_ get up?" "Ten o’clock--somewhere about then. You’d better come and have your breakfast with me now. I’d like to have a little talk with you."