She then remembered that although Mrs. Bateman, the cook, was called Hannah, as cooks always are, her real name was Caroline.
“I was not aware,” said Mrs. Plunket, “that you were a niece of Mrs. Bateman’s.”
Miss Perry was not aware of it either. A ray of intelligence percolated to that unsusceptible mind. All was explained. She had come to the wrong house.
“Is this Mrs. Bateman’s?” said she.
“Certainly it is not Mrs. Bateman’s,” said Mrs. Plunket, sternly, “but she lives here, of course. Perhaps you would like to see her.”
So much was Miss Perry mystified by this new turn of events that she was unable to say whether she would like to see Mrs. Bateman or not. In Mrs. Plunket’s opinion silence gave consent. She rang the bell and desired the immediate attendance of that lady.
A portly, good-humored dame of florid complexion and communicative manners made her appearance.
“Mrs. Bateman,” said Mrs. Plunket, briefly, “I believe this is your niece.”
Having overcome her first emotion of legitimate surprise, Mrs. Bateman welcomed Miss Perry with effusion.
“Why,” she exclaimed, “it is that girl of Maria’s! She is the image of Maria. Very pleased to see you, my love. How’s your father?”