Already, as I sat down, I had given up the idea that it was a female
lunatic asylum and rest cure combined. But what was it, this "Refuge"?

I simply couldn't think! And I did not find out until quite a long time
afterwards. After dinner was finished, when Million, I knew, was fuming
for her boxes, she beckoned me to follow her away from the noisy crowd
of girls, up the shallow, broad, old-fashioned staircase. There was one
door on the landing which she tiptoed past, putting her finger on her
lips.

More mystery!

I could hardly wait with my questions until the door was shut of the
little, slanting-ceiling room with the snow-white, dimity-covered bed
that represented Miss Million's new quarters.

There were straw mats on the bare boards. On the little chest of drawers
there was a Jubilee mug full of the homeliest cottage flowers. This was
a far cry from London and the Hotel Cecil!

I turned with eagerness to my mistress. She had flung herself upon the
suit-case that had now been brought up to her room. She had forgotten to
wait until I should unpack for her, and, having snatched the keys from
me, she began fishing out her blouses and other possessions with "Ah's"
of delight and recognition.

"What on earth is this place, and what's the meaning of it all?" I
began. But Miss Million laughed gleefully, evidently taking no small
delight in my mystification. "Lively, isn't it?" she said. "Talk about
the old orphanage! Well, us girls used to enjoy life there, but it was a
fool to this. I fair revel in it, I can tell you, Smith, and be bothered
to the old Cecil. I don't see why we shouldn't stop on here. Middle-day
dinner and all. That's just my mark, and we can wire to that other
place. Here's plenty good enough for me, for the present----"

"But, look here," I began. "I want to know----" My mistress took me up
quickly. I hadn't seen her in such bubbling high spirits since some of
the old kitchen-days at Putney. "It's me that 'wants to know,' and I'm
just going to begin asking questions about it," she declared, as she
jumped up to allow me to fasten her into the skirt of the
tobacco-brown taffeta.

"Look here, for a start! Who's that nice-lookin' young fellow you came
down with? I never! Motorin' all over the country with strange young
gentlemen. My word! there's behaviour!" giggled Million, evidently with
the delightful consciousness that her own behaviour was far more
reprehensible than mine could ever be. "B