“I am so pleased to see you,” said Mrs. Gregory, making room for Sophy beside her; “what has become of you all these weeks?”
“Oh, I have been in Kokine and quite safe,” she answered, but her smile was not so ready and whole-hearted as it had been on board ship. “Aunt Flora caught a chill and has been laid up. Poor dear, she is a martyr to neuralgia.”
“I know she is subject to it, but surely she does not require you to be with her all day?”
“No, but Herr Krauss is at home now; the old cook has departed after a fearful explosion, and housekeeping is a struggle; servants are so difficult to find and deal with, especially by a strange ‘missy’ like myself. And Herr Krauss is particular about punctuality and the plates being hot, and all that sort of thing; I have to make Russian salads, confitures and sauces, so I have really had no spare time.”
“Yes, I can imagine your hands have been pretty full. But do you mean to tell me that you run the house?”
“I don’t exactly run it, but I do my best to drag it along—and it’s rather awkward from my being a new-comer; pice and rupees are novelties, and everything is supposed to be in German fashion.”
“German fashion!” echoed Shafto. “What’s that?”
“Oh, particular hours, particular food, Blutwurst, sausages, Russian salads, cakes, creams, and plenty of them.”
“Well, I must say Krauss looks sleek and well fed; he does you credit! But don’t you ever get your Sunday off or your day out?”
“I suppose I do in a way. I have been to dine with one or two of our neighbours, and we had some really first-rate music; and then, you see, we live at a long distance from the Cantonment and the Gymkhana.”