l if I went on first
and prepared cook for your coming. She is not exactly impossible you
see, but to confess the truth she can be at times difficult."

"What would she do to us?" asks Dicky, curiously.

"Oh! nothing, of course; but," with an apologetic gesture, "she might
object to so many people taking possession of her kingdom without
warning. Wait one moment while I go and tell her about you. You can
follow me in a minute or two."

They wait. They wait a long time. Stephen Gower, with watch in hand, at
last declares that not one or two, but quite five minutes have dragged
out their weary length.

"Don't be impatient; we'll see her again some time or other," says
Roger, sardonically, whereupon Mr. Gower does his best to wither him
with a scornful stare.

"Let us look up the cook," says Sir Mark, at which they all brighten up
again and stream triumphantly towards the kitchen. As they reach the
door a sensation akin to nervousness makes them all move more slowly,
and consequently with so little noise that Dulce does not hear their
approach. She is so standing, too, that she cannot see them, and as she
is talking with much spirit and condescension they all stop again to
hear what she is saying.

She has evidently made it straight with cook, as that formidable old
party is standing at her right hand with her arms akimbo, and on her
face a fat and genial smile. She has, furthermore, been so amiable as to
envelop Dulce in a _second_ apron; one out of her own wardrobe, an
article of the very hugest dimensions, in which Dulce's slender figure
is utterly and completely lost. It comes up in a little square upon her
bosom and makes her look like a delicious over-grown baby, with her
sleeves tucked up and her bare arms gleaming like snow-flakes.

Opposite to her is the footman, and very near her the upper housemaid.
Dulce being in her most moral mood, has seized this opportunity to
reform the manners of the household.

"You are most satisfactory, you know, Jennings," she is saying in her
soft voice that is trying so hard to be mistress-like, but is only
sweet. "Most so! Sir Christopher and I both think that, but I do wish
you would try to quarrel just a _little_ less with Jane."

At this Jane looks meekly delighted while the footman turns purple and
slips his weight uneasily from one leg to the other.

"It isn't all my fault, ma'am," he says at length, in an aggrieved tone.

"No, I can quite believe that," says his