“I see!” said Bess, politely. “But, Miss Smith, you’re so busy—please let me go into the kitchen and get things started for you. I’d really love to.”
“My dear, I don’t use the kitchen,” Miss Smith replied, calmly.
“Don’t use the kitchen!” repeated the dinner guests in unison.
“Never!” said she. “For busy people like ourselves, housekeeping has to be reduced to the utmost simplicity. I’ve worked it all out. You’ll see! The dinner will be prepared here, in this room, before your very eyes. It won’t take me any time at all.”
She continued to work, and to entertain them with pleasant conversation until half past six. Then she rose, and, with a calm and efficient air, went to a cupboard and brought out a number of electric appliances—grill, percolator, toaster, and so on—which she placed upon her cleared work table, and began to attach to the chandelier outlets.
“Pray let me assist you,” said the professor, greatly distressed by what he saw, for the plugs were screwed in askew, the cords wildly tangled, and the chandelier rocking dangerously.
She smilingly declined assistance, but when her back was turned, he did what he could for the safety and welfare of the party.
“But why,” he whispered to his daughter, “does she keep the window open? It’s a cold night, and I find the draft is becoming most unpleasant.”
Bess crossed the room to Miss Smith, who was leaning out of the open window, and once more asked if she couldn’t help her.
“It’s a l-little imp-provised ice box,” said the hostess, with chattering teeth. “I nailed it up this morning.”