And so Belinda was accepted as an unavoidable inconvenience, and was borne with cheerfully, accordingly.
It was not expected of her that she should appear otherwise on the eventful day than with the regulation roll of flannel about her neck. Dolly did not expect it of her at least, so she was not surprised, on entering the kitchen in the morning, to be accosted by her grimy young handmaiden in the usual form of announcement:—
“Which, if yer please, miss, my tornsuls is swole most awful.”
“Are they?” said Dolly. “Well, I am very sorry, Belinda. It can't be helped, though; Mollie will have to run the errands and answer the door-bell, and you must stay with me and keep out of the draught. You can help a little, I dare say, if you are obliged to stay in the kitchen.”
“Yes, 'm,” said Belinda, and then sidling up to the dresser, and rubbing her nose in an abasement of spirit, which resulted in divers startling adornments of that already rather highly ornamented feature. “If yer please, 'm,” she said, “I 'm very sorry, Miss Dolly. Seems like I ain't never o' no use to yer?”
“Yes, you are,” said Dolly, cheerily, “and you can't help the sore throat, you know. You are a great deal of use to me sometimes. See how you save my hands from being spoiled; they would n't be as white as they are if I had to polish the grates and build the fires. Never mind, you will be better in a day or so. Now for the cookery-book.”
“I never seen no one like her,” muttered the delighted Sepoy, returning to her vigorous cleaning of kettles and pans. “I never seen no one like none on 'em, they 're that there good-natured an' easy on folk.”
It was a busy day for Dolly, as well as for the rest of them, and there was a by no means unpleasant excitement in the atmosphere of business. The cookery, too, was a success, the game pâtés being a triumph, the tarts beautiful to behold, and the rest of the culinary experiments so marvellous, that Griffith, arriving early in the morning, and being led down into the pantry to look at them as a preliminary ceremony, professed to be struck dumb with admiration.
“There,” said Dolly, backing up against the wall in her excitement, and thrusting her hands very far into her apron pockets indeed,—"there! what do you think of that, sir?” And she stood before him in a perfect glow of triumph, her cheeks like roses, her sleeves rolled above her dimpled elbows, her hair pushed on her forehead, and her general appearance so deliciously business-like and agreeably professional that the dusts of flour that were so prominent a feature in her costume seemed only an additional charm.
“Think of it?” said Griffith. “It is the most imposing display I ever saw in my life. The trimmings upon those tarts are positively artistic. You don't mean to say you did it all yourself?”