The Corner House by Fred M. White

Hetty's patience was rewarded at last. She could hear the faint murmur of the motor in the street; there was a sudden rush of air as the front door opened, and the voice of the Countess in her most honeyed tones as she ushered somebody into the dining-room. Instantly the girl crept downstairs and hid herself behind the portiere over the door. It was an audacious thing to do, but her audacity paid, as it generally does.

All the lights in the room were ablaze at one end of the table was a dainty supper, flanked by a couple of gold-topped bottles. A little shabby man with a hooked nose was in the act of taking off a heavy fur-lined coat.