"Yes," said Aubrey, "we are."
"Has your wife engaged a cook yet?"
"Why, no, I don't believe she has thought about it."
"Well, I know exactly the woman for her. Elderly, honest, experienced, cooks game to perfection, doesn't drink, thoroughly competent in every way, and the quaintest character I ever knew. Lived in her last place twenty-three years, and only left when the family was broken up. Shall I send her to see you?"
"Do," said Aubrey.
He forgot to tell me about it, so the next morning while he was shaving, a knock came, and in walked Mary. I was in a kimono, writing notes and waiting for breakfast to be sent up. Hearing voices, Aubrey came to the door with one-half of his face covered with lather, and said:
"Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you. Are you the cook sent by Mr.
Zanzibar?"
"Yes, sir," said Mary.
Aubrey retired to the bathroom again, communicating with me in pantomime.
I looked at Mary, and loved her. We eyed each other in silence for a moment.