"What is the matter, Matilda?" demanded Mrs. De Peyster, a trifle stern at this ineptness.
"Nothing, ma'am. Nothing at all. I'll see that you get it, b—but I don't know how I'll get it."
"Don't know how?"
"You see, ma'am, the butcher, the grocer, everybody thinks I'm the only person in the house. We've always traded with these same people, and I've stayed here alone now for fifteen summers, and they know I eat very little and care only for plain food. And so to-day when I ordered all these things, they—they grinned at me. And the butcher said, 'Living pretty high, while the missus is away.'"
Mrs. De Peyster had dropped her dessert spoon, and was staring at her confederate. "I never thought about food!" she exclaimed in dismay.
"Nor did I, ma'am, till the butcher spoke. And, besides, William received the goods, and—and he smiled at me and said—"
"It does look suspicious!" interrupted Mrs. De Peyster.
"I think it does, ma'am."
"If you keep on having so much food sent in—"
"And such high quality, ma'am."