“She said she felt seedy at breakfast. Guy suggested that the sardine she ate last night might be disagreeing. Not well-received. Have you given her some dope?”
“Some of that wonderful medicine Dr Martin prescribed for me,” said Mrs Matthews. “Not that I think it necessary. But poor Harriet was always one to make a fuss over the slightest ailment. I sometimes wonder what she would do if she had as much ill-health to bear as I have. I've put her to bed with a hot-water bottle, but I could wish that she had chosen some other day to be ill on. The strain of this past week has been too much for my nerves, and I'm feeling far from well myself. I'm afraid, darling, that you will have to do the shopping. I really don't feel up to it.”
“All right,” said Stella obligingly. “Shall I go and talk to Mrs Beecher?”
“Yes, dearest, do. And, Stella! Tell her to cook a very light lunch. Soles, perhaps, with a soufflé to follow.”
Stella grinned. “I bet Aunt Harriet was going to condemn us to cold mutton.”
“Yes, dear, but if she is feeling seedy it is much wiser for her to keep off meat,” said Mrs Matthews, with an air of the purest altruism.
“Of course,” agreed Stella solemnly. “Shall I take that glass down with me?”
“No, this is my own glass, and I always prefer to wash it myself. Tell Mrs Beecher that your aunt is lying down, and is not to be disturbed, and ask her to order a chicken for dinner. Something really digestible.”
“I should think Aunt Harriet'll pass out when she sees it,” commented Stella.
Mrs Beecher received her in the kitchen with an indulgent smile, tut-tutted when she heard of her mistress's indisposition, and said that she was not surprised. “That joint we had last night was downright wicked,” she said. “And as for the fish, well, I was ashamed to send it to table! Enough to make the Master turn in his grave, was what I said to Beecher. And so you're going to do the ordering today, are you, miss? Well, it'll be good practice against the time when you have your own house, won't it?”