The switches were thrown....
VI
Lily Dale was a little thing, with exquisite features, a pretty, laughing face and amber eyes. She was a lover of flowers, a neat housekeeper, a good cook. She was honest, cheerful, self-reliant, humorous. In fact, she was a great deal better than she should be, considering what she was. In the entire category of virtues she lacked only two, grammar and—the title rôle.
In her little flat she cooked a steak for Maurice better than any he’d had since he was married—and made a cup of coffee to match it. She put him in a big chair before an open fire, with a hyacinth on the table beside him. She sat on a hassock by him, smoked cigarettes and told him funny stories ... and Maurice discovered why men leave home....
Maurice had a wonderful idea. He and Eleanor would again go to housekeeping and install Lily in the kitchen. Lily would be saved and they’d have a good cook. Then Eleanor could lie on the bed upstairs and moan all the evening, while he and Lily made fudge in the kitchen.
“My wife’s very broad-minded,” he said, “and we need a cook awful bad.”
“Ain’t you the funny little feller!” said Lily. “Here, you run along home to mother. The old lady’ll think you got stole or something....”
Eleanor awaited him in their room. “Maurice, dear! Where’ve you been?”
“To see a chicken. You know my interest in poultry. (Thank God! that’s no lie)....”
But whenever he wanted a good cup of coffee, he had to go back to the little flat....