"Well, Susan, you get the room ready, and have the bed well aired, and tell me if there's anything more wanted—the child has been ill, and she'll require every comfort. Mrs. Quentyns will wish the room to look as nice as possible. I know nothing about these matters—see to it, Susan, will you?"
"Yes, sir; you may depend on me and cook to do everything right——"
"And tell cook about your mistress. Let me see, they'll be home between five and six on Saturday evening. I shan't dine at home to-night, and if a telegram comes for me, I want you to wire to my city address. This is it."
Quentyns left the house, and Susan and the cook spent a busy day in dusting, polishing, sweeping, and cleaning.
The little spare room looked very sweet and bright with the simple tasty furniture which Quentyns had chosen. The small bed was inviting in its white draperies. The furniture, painted in artistic greens, had a cool and young effect. The room looked like a child's room, and Susan and cook were in ecstasies over its appearance.
"Master 'ave taste and no mistake," said cook. "But why don't he come and look for 'isself at all we have done, Susan? So natty as everything looks, and the furniture master's taste and all. Won't missis be pleased! But why don't he come and say what he thinks of how we has put the things, Susan?"
"Never you mind," said Susan. "Master knows as the arranging of furniture is woman's province—there's no fussing in him, and that's what I likes him for."
Saturday arrived in due time, and the little house in Philippa Terrace was in apple-pie order.
As Quentyns was leaving for town that morning, Susan waylaid him.
"What hour shall I tell my missis that we may expect you home, sir?" she asked. "Mrs. Quentyns and the little lady will be here by six, and the very first thing my missis will ask is, when you are coming in."