“Now,” she said, “I’ll get the luncheon. A man’s only a bother in the kitchen. You go and do your sketching until I call you.”
But Hal Pennington was not so easily disposed of.
“No,” he said; “I’ll gather some flowers, and then I’ll arrange them as a decoration for our feast.”
“Do,” said Betty, “that will be lovely!”
Hal went out to the garden, and returned with gay blossoms, which he arranged deftly and with good taste on the table.
“What are you doing?” he said a little later, as he drifted into the kitchen, where Betty, with her sleeves rolled back, was whisking away at something in a bowl.
“Making a salad; don’t you like it?”
“Love it! Let me help.”
“You can’t help, I tell you. Go away, Man Friday, until I call you.”
“No, please let me help,” coaxed Hal. “I just love to cook. Pooh, maybe you think I don’t know how! See here, I’ll make an omelet!”