For one moment a strange idea—but no, I banished it immediately as preposterous. Irrelevant though it may seem, perhaps this is the place in which the reader might advantageously learn our ages. I have tried to conceal them, hitherto, but youth—like murder—must out. I was twenty-five; Letitia nineteen. These little details need not be mentioned again. Their somewhat brusque interpolation at this late stage seems necessary for a proper comprehension of what is to follow.
"You don't think she is too frightful?" whispered Letitia, as my eyes were riveted upon the figureless figure. "Do, please, look at her face."
The face was rosy and amiable. It was not necessary to look very fixedly at her to discover that. It was a vast improvement upon the acidulated countenance of the late Miss Lyberg. I wondered if the strange idea that I had banished so promptly could, by any chance, have occurred to Letitia. I made a mental vow—a resolute inward swear—not to ask her.
"In this case, her face is her fortune," I said, taking Letitia aside; "it is—quite a face. A smile, occasionally, will help us along, Letitia. This girl certainly looks as though she didn't hate us, just at present. It will be quite a treat not to be hated. I should engage her if I were you, and trust to luck. It is a good sign that we are not instantly attracted toward her. Perhaps it is a happy augury."
Olga Allallami—for such was her title—was thereupon secured. She seemed pleased, even grateful, which impressed me as being so drolly unusual, that I was almost suspicious. Cooks would make a cynic of the Angel Gabriel,—though I have no intention of comparing myself to that seraph.
"These Finnish girls," explained Letitia (I had asked for no explanation), "are brought up out of doors. They live a very active life in their own country in the fields. They are lithe and agile. When they come here, poor things, and undertake sedentary pursuits, the change is bound to tell upon them. Their sinuous figures disappear; they grow squat and stumpy; instead of the lissome, flexible girl, they develop into the heavy, inactive matron. That's it, of course."
Letitia appeared to be pursuing her thoughts aloud—for her own benefit, and perhaps for mine. It seemed to be a reasonable way of looking at Miss Allallami. In any case, a beautiful cook was unnecessary. Nor did it seem possible to find one. All the beautiful cooks were on the stage—in the chorus, where the remuneration was larger, if less certain, and the life more glittering, if less healthy. The beautiful cooks were all singing "tra la la" in comic opera, and were not worrying themselves about "refined Christian homes" in upper New York.
Miss Allallami came to her kitchen with dazzling punctuality next day, and almost before we knew it, the riot of our life was quelled, and an almost ominous tranquillity settled upon us. For once, we seemed to have done the right thing, in the right way, at the right time. Our Olga proved to be most affable. She spoke English fairly well and delighted to understand us. Her cooking, while not precisely Lucullian, was the best we had known, so far. She thoroughly understood the art of boiling water, and upon that ground-work built up a satisfactory culinary knack. She was prompt and willing; she was desirous of pleasing.
In a neat white apron, she looked far less objectionable. In fact, within a few days after her arrival, we neither of us noticed her physical uncomeliness. Either we grew accustomed to it, or we had magnified it in the first instance. Letitia, always enthusiastically inclined, declared that she thought Olga perfectly sweet, which seemed a bit exaggerated to my less exuberant moods. Yet I was bound to admit that she had a nice face, a comfortable way of looking at one, and a comforting manner. There was no suggestion of anarchy in anything that she did. She never went out. The height of her enjoyment appeared to be reached when she sat down. She loved to sit down. When her day's work was done, she sat and sewed, which seemed so respectable! Our other handmaidens—so Letitia told me—never sewed. They pinned things on. As long as they could get pins they paid no attention to needles.
"She makes such cute, needlework-y things!" said Letitia gushingly, one day, "dear little dresses and caps. I fancy, Archie, that she must be working for a store. It really does seem, dear, as though we had a treasure, at last. And just to think how doubtful we were about her. You were right; it was a good sign that we were not instantly attracted."