but himself. But he taught me, and I make it
for Dr. and Mrs. Tolbridge. It has a quality of cream, though there is no
cream in it."

"I never tasted anything of the kind so good," said Miss Panney, "and
I am a judge, for I have lived long and eaten meals prepared by the
best cooks."

"French, perhaps," said La Fleur.

"Oh, yes," was the reply, "and those of other nations. I have travelled."

"I could see that," said La Fleur, "by your appreciation of my work.
French cooking is the best in the world, and if you have an English cook
to do it, then there is nothing more to be desired. It is like the French
china, with the English designs, which they make now. I once visited
their works, and was very proud of my countrymen."

"The conceited old body," thought Miss Panney; but she said, "Very
true, very true. It is delightful to me to think that my friends here
have a cook who can prepare meals which are truly fit, not only to
nourish the body without doing it any harm, but to gratify the most
intelligent taste. I have noticed, La Fleur, that there is always
something about your dishes that pleases the eye as well as the palate.
When we say that cooking is thoroughly wholesome, delicious, and
artistic, we can say no more."

"You do me proud," said La Fleur, "and I hope, madam, that you may eat
many a meal of my cooking. I want to say this, too: I could not cook for
Dr. and Mrs. Tolbridge as I do, if I did not feel that they appreciate my
work. I know they do, and so I am encouraged to do my best."

"Not only does the doctor appreciate you," said Miss Panney, "but his
health depends upon you. He is a man who is peculiarly sensitive to bad
cooking. I have known him all his life, and known him well. He was
getting in a bad way, La Fleur, when you came here, and you are already
making a new man of him."

"I like to hear that," said La Fleur. "I have a high opinion of Dr.
Tolbridge. I know what he is and what he needs. I often sit up late at
night, thinking of things that will be good for him, and which he will
like. We all work here: every one of the household is industrious, but
the doctor and I are the only ones who must work with our brains. The
others simply work with their bodies and hands."

Miss Panney fixed her black eyes on the bulbous-faced cook.

"The word conceit," she thought, "is imbecile in this case."

"I am glad you are both so well able to do it," she said aloud. "And you
like it here? The place