When I had taken off my wet outdoor things and reassumed my cap and apron, I sat down on Miss Million's plump pink couch, stuffed one downy cushion into the curve of my back, another into the nape of my neck, put my slippered feet up on a _pouffe_, and prepared to wait up for her, dozing, perhaps.... CHAPTER XIX WAITING FOR THE REVELLER IT was a very deep doze into which I sank. I roused myself with a start as the little gilt clock on the mantel-piece chimed four. I sprang up. Had Miss Million come in without waking me? I tapped at the door of her bedroom. No reply. I went softly in, switching on the lights. There was no one there. All was in the apple-pie order in which I had left her pretty, luxurious room. She hadn't come in? At four o'clock? Wondering and troubled, I went back to the couch and dozed again. It was five o'clock when next I woke. Dawn struggled through the chinks of the blinds. No Million. I waited, and waited. Six o'clock in the morning. I threw aside the curtains.... Bright daylight now. Still no Million! Seven o'clock, and the cheery sounds of morning activity all around me. But Million hadn't come in. Out all night? What could be the meaning of it? From eight to nine-thirty this morning I have spent sitting at the telephone in my mistress's room; feverishly fluttering the leaves of the thick red telephone book, and calling up the numbers of people who I have imagined might know what has become of Miss Million, the heiress, and why she has not come home. I turned up first of all her hostess at the Supper Club. "London's Love," she may be; but certainly not my love. It was she who asked Million to that horrible party. "Give me 123 Playfair, please.... Is that Miss Vi Vassity?... Can I speak to Miss Vi Vassity, please? It is something urgent----" A pert and Cockney voice squeaked into my ear that Miss Vi Vassity wasn't at home. That nobody knew when she was coming back. That the time to expect her was the time when she was seen coming in! Charming trait! But why did the comedienne with the brass-bright hair choose to pass on that characteristic to my mistress? I tried another number. "Nought, nought, nought Gerrard, please. I want to speak to Mr. Burke." A rich brogue floated back to me across the wires. "What's attached to the charmin' girlish voice that's delighting my ears?" "This is Miss--Miss Million's maid." "Go on, darlin'," said the voice. I gasped. "Is that Mr. Burke speaking?" "Who should ut be? This is the great, the notorious Burke himself." "I mean," I called flurriedly, "is that my Mr. Burke?" "I'd ask to be called nothing better!" declared the voice. "Thry me!" I raged, flushing scarlet, and thanking heaven that those irrepressible blue Irish eyes did not see my angry confusion.