"I have discharged her as a cook," I said, triumphantly. "A new one will be here by the end of the week."
"Oh," she sighed plaintively, "how glad I am. She is an atrocious cook. I don't like to complain, Mr. Smart, but really it is getting so that I can't eat anything she sends up. It is jolly of you to get in a new one. Now we shall be very happy."
"By Jove!" said I, completely staggered by these revelations. Unable to find suitable words to express my sustained astonishment, I repeated: "By Jove!" but in a subdued tone.
"I have thought it over, Mr. Smart," she went on in a business-like manner, "and I believe we will get along much better together if we stay apart."
Ambiguous remarks ordinarily reach my intelligence, but I was so stunned by preceding admissions that I could only gasp:
"Do you mean to say you've been subsisting all this time on my food?"
"Oh, dear me, no! How can you think that of me? Gretel merely cooks the food I buy. She keeps a distinct and separate account of everything, poor thing. I am sure you will not find anything wrong with your bills, Mr. Smart. But did you hear what I said a moment ago?"
"I'm not quite sure that I did."
"I prefer to let matters stand just as they are. Why should we discommode each other? We are perfectly satisfied as we—"
"I will not have my new cook giving notice, madam. You surely can't expect her—or him—to prepare meals for two separate—"