“If you please, ma’am, cook says may she speak to you.”
“Yes; send her in,” was the reply; and directly after Martha appeared, giving the last touches to secure the clean apron she had put on between kitchen and breakfast-room.
“Cook’s cross,” said Vane to himself, as his aunt looked up with—
“Well, cook?”
“Sorry to trouble you, ma’am, but I want to know what I’m to do about my vegetables this morning.”
“Cook them,” said Vane to himself, and then he repeated the words aloud, and added, “not like you did my poor chanterelles.”
“Hush, Vane, my dear,” said Aunt Hannah, as the cook turned upon him fiercely. “I do not understand what you mean, Martha.”
“I mean, ma’am,” said the cook, jerkily, but keeping her eyes fixed upon Vane, “that Bruff sent word as he’s too ill to come this morning; and I can’t be expected to go down gardens, digging potatoes and cutting cauliflowers for dinner. It isn’t my place.”
“No, no, certainly not, Martha,” said Aunt Hannah. “Dear me! I am sorry Bruff is so ill. He was quite well yesterday.”
“But I want the vegetables now, ma’am.”