“I should like to help with the marmalade too,” said the Colonel.
Susie laughed.
“Oh no, you won’t,” she said. “You did last year, don’t you remember? and nobody would eat the Colonel’s marmalade. Each jar had to be marked ‘Colonel Arbuthnot’ on account of the thickness of the rinds. You had it all to yourself, and I think you are about sick of it.”
“But I’ll do better this time; I really will, Susie,” said the poor Colonel.
“Oh, it does seem so very silly to cut up that beautiful rind so thick; it isn’t men’s work,” said Susie, “and that’s the truth; but it’s meant for women like Florence and me. If Flo cuts the rinds thick, she will feel the full impetus of my wrath. You go into the library and get your books in order, father. I dare say Flo and I will come in and read to you presently; but between lunch and tea-time we are going to be busy over our marmalade, and we don’t want you hovering round.”
“There, there!” said the Colonel, “there, there! What is the good of an old man who is always in the way?”
“Things are being done for him all the time,” said Susie. “Now, how do you like that curry, sir? Let me tell you that I made it myself.”
“It is delicious, my dear,” said the Colonel. “I could almost fancy myself back in Bengal. It has got the true oriental flavour. Where did you discover that knack of blending the ingredients so that you don’t get one flavour over and above the others? Really—this curry is a chef-d’oeuvre. Try some, won’t you, Florence?”
But Florence declared that she could not eat curry with the true eastern flavour and preferred some cold mutton, which Susie out for her with right good-will.
“I like your food,” she said. “It is so good and wholesome. I hate messy things. Mrs Fortescue was always making things up for us, imagining that we could not eat plain things.”