hy don't you come into the drawing-room now? I heard what Timmy
said--and it's quite true!"

"What Timmy said just now?" She turned and looked at him, puzzled.

Godfrey Radmore, in his well-cut dress clothes and the small, but
perfect, pearl studs in the shirt of which she had heard Jack openly envy
the make and cut, seemed an incongruous figure in the Old Place scullery.

He blundered on. "Timmy said that you look as if you had been at a fancy
dress ball as a cook. He ought to have said 'cordon bleu,' for I've never
eaten a better dinner!"

And then to his aghast surprise, Betty sat down on one of the wooden
chairs near the table where she had been standing and burst into tears.
"I don't want to be a 'cordon bleu,'" she sobbed. "I _hate_ cooking--and
everything connected with cooking." Then, feeling ashamed of herself, she
pulled a clean handkerchief out of her apron pocket, and dabbed her eyes.
"I'm just tired out, that's what it is!" she exclaimed, trying to smile.
"We had a worrying half-hour, thinking the fish was not going to arrive.
You see, Janet dislikes poor Mrs. Crofton so much that she suddenly made
up her mind that it was her duty to kill the fatted calf, and in such a
case I have to do the killing!"

"It's such a waste for you to be doing the things you are doing now." He
spoke with a touch of anger in his voice. "Why, you and I hardly ever see
one another! After all, even if you've forgotten the old times, _I_ often
remember them--I mean the times when you and I and George were so much
together and such good pals. I love every brick of Old Place because of
those days." He was speaking with deep feeling now. "Sometimes I feel as
if I should like to run away--it's all so different here from what it
used to be."

He saw a kind, moved, understanding look come over her eyes, and firm,
generous mouth, and quickly, man-like, he pressed his advantage.

"Look here," he said coaxingly, "don't you think we might hit on some
kind of compromise? Won't you allow me just to get some sort of temporary
housekeeper who can look after things while poor Nanna is laid up?"

She shook her head. "I don't think any of us would like that," she said.
"But I daresay I have become too much of a Martha."

She got up, feeling painfully afraid that she was going to cry again.
"I don't see why I shouldn't do as Timmy said--change my apron, I mean,
and go into the drawing-room. For one thing, I should like to see Mrs.
Crofton's