“I’m glad I blacked the stove,” reflected Lilith. “I thought first I’d leave it for the new cook!”
“He’ll never know whether it is black or red,” scorned Polly. “In some respects men are all alike.”
Nevertheless, the man that walked into the kitchen, unannounced, a few moments later did look different from any other that Polly had ever known. Very trim he was in his short white coat, a chef’s cap hiding his thick brown hair. His face wore the expression of one in love with his rôle.
“At your service, mademoiselle,” he said with a low bow.
Lilith peeped in from the back piazza, then swiftly stole away with a silent chuckle. It was too funny! Could he really cook?
“If you will allow me,” began the newcomer, “I should like to look round a bit, so that I may learn where things are. Or perhaps you will be good enough to show me.”
“Now, Mr. Merrifield,” began Polly, “you needn’t think you must do this to help out. We can get along. The truth is, Miss Brooks and I don’t know much about cooking, and we were afraid you wouldn’t like it very well; but if you can put up with—”
His hand stayed her apologies. “Miss Dudley,” he said, “I have come here to cook, and I don’t like to give up a job until I have had a chance at it. Then if I don’t suit you, I will get out as quick and gracefully as I can.” He looked at her with mischievous eyes.
She laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to let you,” she replied, “and Lilith and I will help all we can.”
“I think I shall not need any help,” he smiled. “I will agree to take care of the kitchen.”