Then a faint colour crept up the bloomy cream of Elizabeth’s cheek to her ear, and Andy could not help trying to make her turn towards him with a futile, “What do you think of it, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Oh, it’s hideous! But there’s something I rather like about it too,” said Miss Elizabeth demurely.
Then the little maid appeared in the doorway with an expression which would have made the most obtuse hostess on earth remember that she had forgotten her handkerchief and go hastily in search of it. But Andy, being a man, only glared vacantly at her and wondered what she wanted.
She whispered a ‘Sir’ so hoarse with nervousness that no one could hear it, and then in despair she beckoned with her forefinger.
“I think,” suggested Elizabeth apologetically, “that your maid——”
“What is it? Luncheon ready? Then bring it in,” commanded Andy.
But the child shook her head hopelessly and tears appeared in her goggling blue eyes. A sound as of wood crackling and a range roaring, with all dampers out, came through the open door behind her.
“What is it?” asked Andy again, with some impatience.
“She said I was to tell in private, but you won’t be private,” burst forth the maid, half crying and finding her voice at last “The asparagus won’t cook. We’ve been feeding the fire since twelve with all the firewood there is, and the soft end is boiled to a mush, but the hard end’s as hard as ever it was. You’ll have to do without it.”
Then she flung up her apron and clattered back to the kitchen.