"Again!" says Sir Christopher, in an indescribable manner.
"Surely not again," repeats Dulce, with unpleasant animation. "It can't be that frightful thing again, after all I said to cook yesterday!"
"I'm afraid it is, 'em," says the butler, very sadly.
"And this is the cook Miss Gaunt so highly recommended!" says Dulce, wrathfully. "Save me from my friends, say I; can't she make anything else, Martin?"
"This is a gooseberry tart, 'em," whispers the butler, respectfully, a faint shade of encouragement in his voice, laying that delicacy before her.
"That means sugar—lots of sugar," says Dicky Browne, who is sitting close to her. "I'm glad of that, I like lots of sugar."
"You are like my lord mayor's fool," she says; "you like everything that is sweet."
"I do," says Dicky, fondly; "that's why I like you."
"I think it was very wrong of Miss Gaunt to impose such a woman upon us," says Dulce, deeply aggrieved.