“You’re the cook, Hester, are you not?” she said.
“Yes, your ladyship,” answered Hester, and not over-graciously, for she didn’t like her countrywoman at all.
“Hester, I want you to go back to England and live with me. I’m sure you’d like your own home better than this savage country, and I’ll give you a pound a week and found.”
When Lady Pendered began her speech Hester felt angry; but as she continued, the funny side of it struck the pseudo-cook, and she answered:
“Hi couldn’t do it nohow, your ladyship. Hi ’ave a good ’ome ’ere, and Hi likes my missus, and Hi’d not be by way of livin’ with the haristocracy hanyway—but meanin’ no hoffense to your ladyship.”
After further useless attempts to persuade the superior cook to go home with her, Lady Pendered walked off in high dudgeon, and Hester flew back into the kitchen to tell Marjorie about it, which was not altogether necessary, as that young woman had gleefully viewed the scene through a latticed window.
Meantime Lady Lucy, in her boudoir, was trying to persuade Millicent to enter her service, and that romantic purveyor of fairy-tales was astonishing the English girl, to her own mischievous delight.
“I’d be glad to go with your ladyship,” she was saying. “I’m sure there couldn’t be a lovelier lady to work for in all England or Arabia. Your hair is just beautiful, miss—my lady, I mean. And of course my mistress could easily fill my place here.”
“Then come with me,” said Lady Lucy, eagerly. “I’ll be very good to you; you shall have every other Sunday afternoon out.”
“Oh, my lady, you’re too generous! But it’s no use tempting me thus. I cannot go. I fear to cross the wild and wavy ocean.”