Virginia was the cat, just now obviously misnamed. Phyllis knew very well what was coming next, but she could not speak fast enough to avert it.
“Beans will be good for her,” said Janet with enthusiasm. “She’s going to have a family very soon, she needs nourishing food.”
“Mother says she mustn’t have a shock, it might be bad for the kittens.”
“That’ll do, never mind about Virginia.”
Lizzie was making grimaces from the kitchen door, holding up a cup custard and contorting a red face of inquiry. Phyllis nodded. But perhaps Lizzie means there aren’t enough custards to go round? “Oh, Lizzie, put on the fruit too.”
George, with his damnable persistence, had not forgotten.
“How about the cake?” he asked.
“George, you know we’ve got to save the cake for the Picnic. I can’t ask Lizzie to make another one.”
“It’s been cut already,” he said.
I’m not going to be humiliated like this in front of a stranger. George is just doing it because he sees Mr. Martin admires me. Will this meal never end? I’m past battling over trifles. Have the cake if you want it. I don’t care. If Lizzie puts it on, all right. Leave it to her. I’m not going to order it on. Cooks always take the man’s side anyhow. I’m afraid Mr. Martin will think we’re lunatics.