The Convert - Tapa blanda

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Freddy Tunbridges dinner-hour, was not taken into the great empty drawing-room, but, as though she were not to be of the party expected that night, straight upstairs she went behind the foot man, and then up more stairs behind a maid. The smart, whitecapped domestic paused, and her floating muslin streamers cut short their aerial gyrations subsiding against her straight black back as she knocked at the night-nursery door. It was opened by a middle-aged head nurse of impressive demeanour. She stood there an instant eyeing the intruder with the kind of overbearing hauteur that in these days does duty as the peculiar hall-mark of the upper servant, being seldom encountered in England among even the older generation of the so-called governing class. It stoo late to see the baby, miss. He sasleep. Yes, I know; but the others are expecting me, arent they? Question hardly necessary, perhaps, with the air full of cries from beyond the screen: Yes, yes. We re waiting! Mummy promised cut short by the nurse saying sharply, Not so much noise, Miss Sara. But the presiding genius of the Tunbridge nursery opened the door a little wider and stood aside. Handsome compensation for her studied coldness was offered in the shrill shrieks of joy with which a little girl and a very small boy celebrated the ladys entrance. She, for her part, joined the austere nurse in saying, Sh! sh! and in simulating consternation at the spectacle behind the screen, Miss Sara jumping up and down in the middle of her bed with wild brown hair swirling madly about a laughing but mutinous face.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)

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