"Don't you go to school yourself?"
"Ho! No! I got through last year; I'm thirteen."
A pause, during which the help reluctantly admired Linda's hands and her deft manner of manipulating spoon and orange. As the guest laid down the empty rind, her companion's voice rent the air.
"Oatmeal, wheatena, and all the cold cereals!" she vociferated.
Linda started. "I—I don't really care—"
"One's jest as easy as the other. They're all handy."
"I'll take the—oatmeal, please," replied Linda under the pressure of that strenuous reassurance.
During the brief absence of the small maid, the girl leaned back in her chair, and looked through the open windows fronting the sea.
Presently, Blanche Aurora's foot kicked open the swing door and she advanced with the cereal and noted that the guest shivered.
"Be ye cold?" she questioned sharply; "I can shet the winders."