"I do not believe you know how. I have been long enough in the
wilderness to learn all trades. You never learned how to cook at
Wiglands."

"But at Plassy I did."

"Did aunt Caxton let you into her kitchen?"

"Yes."

"I shall not let you into mine."

"She went with me there. I have not come out here to be useless. I will
take care of the dinner to-day."

"No, you shall not," said Mr. Rhys, drawing her away from the kitchen.
"You have got enough to do to-day in unpacking boxes. There will be
servants this evening to attend to all you want; and for the present
you are my care."

"Rowland, I should like it."

Which view of the case did not seem to be material. At least it was
answered in a silencing kind of way, as with his arm about her he led
her in through the bananas to the house. It silenced Eleanor
effectually, in spite of being very serious in her wish. She put it
away to bide another opportunity.

Mr. Rhys gave her something else to do, as he had said. The boxes had
in part been brought from the schooner, and there was employment for
both of them. He drew out nails, and took off covers, and did the rough
unpacking; while the arranging and bestowing of the goods thus put
under her disposal kept Eleanor very busy. His part of the work was
finished long before hers, and Mr. Rhys withdrew to his study for some
other work. Eleanor, happy and busy, with touched thoughts of Mrs.
Caxton, put away blankets and clothes and linen and calicos, and
unpacked glass, and stowed on her shelves a whole store of home
comforts and necessaries; marvelling between whiles at Mr. Rhys's
varieties of power in making himself useful and wishing she could do
what she thought was better her work than his--the work to be done in
the kitchen before the servants came home. By and by, Mr. Rhys came out
of the study again, and found Eleanor sitting on the mat before a huge
round hamper, uncovered, filled with Australian fruit. This was a late
arrival, brought while he had been shut up at his work. Grapes and
peaches and pears and apricots were crowded side by side in rich and
beautiful abundance and confusion. Eleanor sat looking at it. She was
in a working dress, of the brown stuff her aunt's maids wore at home;
short sleeves left her arms bare to the elbow; and the full jacket and
hoopless skirt did no wrong to a figure the soft outlines of which they
only disclosed. Mr. Rhys stopped and stood still. Eleanor looked up.

"Mr. Est