he mere cooking. That will give you more time
to--to attend to other things, Tommy--Jane, I mean."

"What other things?" chin in the air.

"The--the keeping of the rooms in order, Tommy. The--the dusting."

"Don't want twenty-four hours a day to dust four rooms."

"Then there are messages, Tommy. It would be a great advantage to me to
have someone I could send on a message without feeling I was interfering
with the housework."

"What are you driving at?" demanded Tommy. "Why, I don't have half
enough to do as it is. I can do all--"

Peter put his foot down. "When I say a thing, I mean a thing. The
sooner you understand that, the better. How dare you argue with me!
Fiddle-de-dee!" For two pins Peter would have employed an expletive even
stronger, so determined was he feeling.

Tommy without another word left the room. Peter looked at Elizabeth and
winked.

Poor Peter! His triumph was short-lived. Five minutes later, Tommy
returned, clad in the long, black skirt, supported by the cricket belt,
the blue garibaldi cut _decollete_, the pepper-and-salt jacket, the
worsted comforter, the red lips very tightly pressed, the long lashes
over the black eyes moving very rapidly.

"Tommy" (severely), "what is this tomfoolery?"

"I understand. I ain't no good to you. Thanks for giving me a trial. My
fault."

"Tommy" (less severely), "don't be an idiot."

"Ain't an idiot. 'Twas Emma. Told me I was good at cooking. Said I'd
got an aptitude for it. She meant well."

"Tommy" (no trace of severity), "sit down. Emma was quite right. Your
cooking is--is promising. As Emma puts it, you have aptitude.
Your--perseverance, your hopefulness proves it."

"Then why d'ye want to get someone else in to do it?"

If Peter could have answered truthfully! If Peter could have replied:

"My dear, I am a lonely old gentleman. I did not know it until--until
the other day. Now I cannot forget it again. Wife and child died many
years ago. I was poor, or I might have saved them. That made me hard.
The clock of my life stood still. I hid away the key. I did not want to
think. You crept to me out of the cruel fog, awakened old dreams. Do
not go away any more"--perhaps Tommy, in spite of her fierce
independence, would have consented to be useful; and thus Peter might
have gained his end at less cost of indigestion. But the penalty for
being an anti-sentimentalist is that you must not talk like this even to
your