Chapter EighteenWhen Miss Silver reached her own room she sat down on a small upright chair and plunged into thought for the space of about ten minutes. Then she glanced at her own little clock, a loudly ticking contraption of Swiss origin in a wooden case freely decorated with carved edelweiss, which she had placed in the exact centre of the mantelpiece, and observing that it was still not quite ten o’clock, rose up and rang the bell.
She was just thinking of ringing it again, when a plump, rosy-faced girl arrived in a hurry.
‘Now I wonder,’ said Miss Silver, ‘whether I might speak to Louisa. That is her name, is it not—Miss Treherne’s maid?’
‘Oh, yes, miss. But if there’s anything I can do—’
‘Not at the moment, thank you. Was it you who unpacked for me?... And your name?... Ivy? Than
