uld be prouder. But all the same I wish he could
manage to be a little more regular with his meals. It makes cooking so
difficult. To-morrow, because I shan't have a minute to spare, he'll be
home punctually, demanding something nice. But I warn you, to-morrow
you'll all have to picnic!"

However, when the day came, she was better than her word, and looked to
it that neither guests nor husband went short. Since a couple of tables
on trestles took up the dining-room, John and Mahony lunched together
in the surgery; while Jinny's meal was spread on a tray and sent to her
in the bedroom. Mary herself had time only to snatch a bite standing.
From early morning on, tied up in a voluminous apron, she was cooking
in the kitchen, very hot and floury and preoccupied, drawing grating
shelves out of the oven, greasing tins and patty-pans, dredging flour.
The click-clack of egg-beating resounded continuously; and mountains of
sponge-cakes of all shapes and sizes rose under her hands. This would
be the largest, most ambitious party she had ever given--the guests
expected numbered between twenty and thirty, and had, besides, carte
blanche to bring with them anyone who happened to be staying with
them--and it would be a disgrace under which Mary, reared in Mrs.
Beamish's school, could never again have held up her head, had a single
article on her supper-table run short.

In all this she had only such help as her one maidservant could give
her--John had expressly forbidden Jinny the kitchen. True, during the
morning Miss Amelia Ocock, a gentle little elderly body with a harmless
smile and a prominent jaw, who was now an inmate of her father's house,
together with Zara, returned from England and a visitor at the
Ocock's--these two walked over to offer their aid in setting the
tables. But Miss Amelia, fluttery and undecided as a bird, was far too
timid to do herself justice; and Zara spent so long arranging the
flowers in the central epergnes that before she had finished with one
of them it was lunch time.

"I could have done it myself while she was cutting the stalks," Mary
told her husband. "But Zara hasn't really been any good at flowers
since her 'mixed bouquet' took first prize at the Flower Show. Of
course, though, it looks lovely now it's done."

Purdy dropped in during the afternoon and was more useful; he sliced
the crusts off loaf-high mounds of sandwiches, and tested the strength
and flavour of the claret-cup. Mary could n