Explore "The Missioner" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Lady Peggy was fussing round the drawing-room, talking to all her guests at once.
"I haven't the least idea who takes anybody in," she declared. "James said he'd see to that, so you might just as well put your hand in a lucky-bag. And I'm not at all sure that you'll get any dinner. I've got a new _chef_ -- drives up in a high dogcart with such a sweet little groom. He may be all right. Jules, the maitre d'hotel at Claridge's, got him for me, and, Wilhelmina, sooner than come out like a ghost, I'd really take lessons in the use of the rouge-pot. My new maid's a perfect treasure at it. No one can ever tell whether my colour's natural or not. I don't mind telling you people it generally isn't. But anyhow, it isn't daubed on like Lady Sydney's -- makes her look for all the world like one of 'ces dames,' doesn't it? I'm sure I'd be afraid to be seen speaking to her if I were a man. Gilbert," she broke off, addressing Deyes, who was just being ushered in, "how dare you come to dinner without being asked? I'm sure I have not asked you. Don't say I did, now.