JANE-ELLEN was standing in the office, with her hands folded, and an expression of the utmost calm upon her face. Crane came in quickly and would have shut the door, but for the fact that Smithfield was immediately behind him.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said firmly, sliding into the room, "but I must look to the fire."
Crane frowned.
"The fire's all right," he said shortly.
But Smithfield was not to be put off his duties, and began to poke the logs and sweep the hearth until peremptorily ordered to go.
When the door finally closed behind him, Crane stood silent a moment with his hand on the mantelpiece. The whole tone of the interview, upon which it now occurred to him he had rushed somewhat too hastily, would be decided by whether he spoke standing up or sitting down. His feelings were for the first, his intellect for the latter position.
His intellect won. He sat down in a deep chair and crossed his legs. As he did so, the cook's eyes, which had hitherto been fixed on the carpet, now raised themselves to the level of his neat pumps and black silk socks. He was aware of this, but did not allow himself to be disconcerted.
"I suppose you can guess why I sent for you, Jane-Ellen," he said.
"The dinner was not satisfactory, sir?"
"I doubt if you could cook an unsatisfactory dinner if you tried," he returned. "No, the trouble is over something that happened an hour or so before dinner."