I said sedately: "I am sure Miss Million will be glad to let you call." "When?" said the young bank manager rather peremptorily. I made a rapid mental calculation. I ought to be able to get Million suitably clad for receiving admirers-to-be in about--yes, four days. I said: "On Thursday afternoon, at about five, if that suits you." "Admirably," said the young man whom I have selected to marry Million. "Au revoir!" CHAPTER IX WE MOVE INTO NEW QUARTERS THE HOTEL CECIL, June, 1914. I'VE taken the first step towards setting up my new employer, Miss Million, as a young lady of fortune. That first step was--new luggage! New clothes we could do without for a little longer (though not for much longer. I'm quite firm about that). But new, expensive-looking trunks Miss Million must have. It would be absolutely impossible for "Miss Million and Maid" to make their appearance at a big London hotel with the baggage which had witnessed their exit from the Putney villa. My brown canvas hold-all and her tin trunk with the rope about it--what did they make us look like? Irish emigrants! "Nice luggage is the mark of a lady," was one of my Aunt Anastasia's many maxims. So we spent the morning in Bond Street, buying recklessly and wildly at Vuitton's and at that place where you get the "Innovation" trunks that look like a glorified wardrobe--all hangers and drawers. I did all the ordering. Million stood by and looked like a scared kitten. When the time came she signed the cheques and gasped, "Lor', Miss!" "Million, you're not to say 'Lor''," I ordered her in a stage whisper. I turned away from the polished shop assistants who, I should think, must have had the morning of their lives. I wonder what they made of their customers, the two young women (one with a strong Cockney accent) who dressed as if from a country rectory jumble sale and who purchased trunks as if for a duchess's trousseau? "And you are not to say 'Miss.' Do remember, Million," I urged her. "Now we'll have a taxi. Two taxis, I mean." One taxi was piled high with the new and princely pile of "leather goods." Hat-boxes, dress-baskets, two Innovation trunks, a week-end bag, and a dressing-case with crystal and ivory fittings. The other taxi bore off the small, "my-Sunday-out"-looking figure of Miss Million and the equally small, almost equally badly dressed figure of Miss Million's maid. We drove first to the Kensington Hostelry and picked up the old luggage. By the side of the new it looked not even as respectable as an Irish emigrant's; it looked like some Kentish hop-picker's! We made the driver unstrap and open one of the large new dress-baskets. And into this we dumped the hold-all and the tin trunk that seemed to be labelled "My First Place." Then I ordered him to drive to the Hotel Cecil, and off we whirled again.