‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who cooked this? Or, rather, didn’t?’
‘Please, sir, I did.’
Then quite suddenly, both for Helen and me, dawn began to break for a little. Here was three-quarters of the establishment incapacitated, and the Awful Thing was calmly doing everybody’s work as well as her own, which was that of a housemaid. Helen cheered up at once.
‘Please give me some fish,’ she said to me. ‘It looks quite excellent.’
I helped her largely and sumptuously. We both understood each other at this moment, and I put a thumping helping on to my own plate.
Helen, greatly daring, took a greedy mouthful, and spoke to the Awful Thing, who was beginning to beam largely on us.
‘Delicious,’ she said to her. ‘I had no idea you could cook so beautifully. You needn’t wait; we will ring. And you must have help in at once. Will you telephone to Mrs. Watkins’ agency, asking for a—(she paused, and I know she was going to say ‘cook’)—a housemaid?’
The Awful Thing smiled from ear to ear, and a moment afterwards we heard the insane ringing of the telephone.
‘Oh, I couldn’t send for a cook just this moment,’ said Helen, when the girl had left the room. ‘She was bursting with pride at having cooked this. But if I eat it I shall be sick. What are we to do?’