She looked carefully to see what style of address was necessary and wrote out the envelope--and when all was ready she rose and took them to the young-old lady by the fire. She stood quite still while they were perused, and then smiled inwardly when Lady Garribardine gave a cynical chuckle. "I think you will do very well, Miss Bush! Please find some stamps, and put them in that basket to be posted--and--er--you can ring the bell--I shall expect you--bag and baggage--on Wednesday next." This was abrupt, but Katherine Bush felt it was what it should be. "You do not require the testimony of Mr. Livingston or Mr. Devereux?" "No--I can judge for myself--er--Good morning." The bell had been answered almost instantly and so, bowing, Katherine Bush followed the servant down the stairs, and soon found herself in the street, a strange sense of content in her heart. She knew the West End very well--and walked briskly along Hill Street and so on past Dorchester House--into the Park. All the leaves were off the trees. The November day was beautifully fine and bright and movement was a pleasure. So the first part of her new game was won at all events. She reviewed the whole set of impressions she had taken. Firstly, that the house was a fine one--it had "the look," if houses could be said to show this quality. That is, it was beautifully kept and filled with what she guessed from study at the Wallace Collection must be rare and costly furniture. There were some things she thought ugly--but "the look" was often ugly, she knew by experience--from Gladys' verbose descriptions to Ethel and Matilda. Apart from "the look" it had an air of distinction. It was the abode of denizens of Lord Algy's world--that was evident. The man she had met on the threshold of the morning room door was certainly of his class--and rather nice-looking. As for her future employer, she was a new specimen to her. Katherine meant what the French call a _type_, but she did not know this expression. "She is certainly over sixty," she said to herself. "She is a dark woman naturally, and her hair ought to be grey. The whole thing is spoilt by that silly golden wig--curled tight like Royalty's. She would have quite a nice figure for her age if she were not all pushed up by those old-fashioned corsets. Why had she such big ears and such red hands for so great a lady? Her rings were buried in fat. The circulation was evidently wrong somewhere. As for her voice--it was one of _the_ voices! The female counterpart of the echoes from over the glass screen--and the manner was quite as casual. "Just as insolent as I shall be when I hold the same sort of place. She was born to it--I shall have acquired it--we both when we are dead will be said to have well filled our situations." Thus mused Katherine Bush on a November day in Hyde Park--and turning out of Albert Gate suddenly she almost walked into the arms of Lord Algy. CHAPTER V "Darling pet! What a delightful surprise!"