"I s'pose his are blue?" said the cook.
"How should I know?" said the girl, flushing.
"I adore blue eyes," the cook said curiously; "'ave a look."
"You romantic old thing!" cried the waitress, laughing and approaching George. To obtain a good view of his eyes it was necessary to kneel on the hearthrug and peer under the green shade. She did so, and the intelligent look that met her was most confusing.
"They're blue, ain't they?" said the cook.
"I—I can't see properly," replied the girl; "I think they're brown."
She took another peep and looked straight into George Early's eyes. As she did so George closed one eye in a manner that made the waitress scramble to her feet with a red face.
"Are they brown?" asked the cook.
"I don't know," said the girl, hastily. "I must get on with my work: I'm all behind."
The cook went back to her kitchen very reluctantly, and the waitress busied herself in clearing the breakfast-table.