“Go and tell the cook to make an omelette,” she ordered angrily. “It’s disgraceful that we can’t have enough to eat.”
The parlour-maid departed. A minute or two afterwards the door was flung open violently, and the cook advanced into the middle of the dining-room.
“You can’t have an omelette. I’ve no eggs, and the fire’s gone out,” she remarked loudly and aggressively.
“What do you mean, cook?” said Molly, evidently rather alarmed.
The cook saw her mistress quailing, and raised her voice.
“I mean that I’ve cooked as much as I mean to, and I’m not going to do any more. I’m tired of it.”
“This is disgraceful!” exclaimed her mistress, appealing to Stuart. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to come in and talk like that, simply because I asked for an omelette.”
“Well, you can’t have it, then,” the cook returned, with a ring of triumph.
“Very well; that’s enough. Go downstairs!” commanded Molly.
The cook tossed her head, and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.