“You’re joking!”
“It’s a fact. Lloyd’s took her on. I say, Azalea, doesn’t Mrs. Dilling look ghastly?”
Marjorie sat next Mrs. Blaine and Lady Fanshawe, feeling more ghastly than she looked. She had never been ill in her life, save when the babies came and that, of course, didn’t count. One just naturally had babies and made no fuss about it. But this was different. She had no particular pain. She wasn’t quite sure that her head ached. But she felt strangely weak and uncertain of herself.
Lady Fanshawe and Mrs. Blaine were complaining of their servants. Neither would admit the other’s supremacy in having the worst the Dominion afforded.
“But you have a very good cook,” Mrs. Blaine protested.
“My dear, how can you say so?” cried Lady Fanshawe. “Twice, she has nearly poisoned us!”
“Well, the dinner I ate last Thursday at your house couldn’t have been better.”
“A happy exception, I assure you.”
“Why don’t you get rid of her?” asked Mrs. Blaine.
“I shall . . . but not at once—not until I have some one else in view. However, if you need a cook, dear,” she went on, “why not try Mrs. Hudson’s Minnie? She is really an excellent woman, and can always be tempted with higher wages.”