“But, of course,”
She swept into the house, calling the butler imperiously to bring tea up to her boudoir.
“And in future,” she added, “Mamselle Weedon will have luncheon. Do you understand? A proper luncheon. I cannot imagine why no one thought of it before we left the house.”
She did not wait for the manservant’s apologies, but swept upstairs to a room opening off from her bedroom.
Gardenia had heard talk of ladies’ boudoirs, but had never seen one. Everything in her aunt’s seemed to be ornamented with cupids.
“It is so lovely!” Gardenia exclaimed, feeling that she was overworking that adjective, but finding no other word to describe it.
Her aunt did not answer and Gardenia saw that she was seated at a beautiful inlaid gilt and satin-wood secrétaire writing a letter. Not liking to
