Mary put down her saucepan of milk and went away with the tray in her hand. "I s'pose it must have touched something," she said cheerfully.
"Yes, evidently—and you couldn't have washed it properly. It has made my hands sticky too." It really was aggravating, for she had only just washed them. "Where can I find a clean tray-cloth, Mary?"
"In the drawer of the press, miss."
Audrey's face wore an expression of deep disdain as she turned over the collection of things in the untidy drawer. "I can't see anything fit to use," she said irritably. "Where are the clean ones kept, Mary?"
"We have only two, miss, one is in the wash, the other you've got in your hand. It is a bit crumpled, I am afraid."
"If we've got so few, it's a pity not to take more care of those we have," grumbled Audrey, "this really is not fit to use, but I suppose I must." When she began to collect the china, the cup, as usual, had a smear on it, and the plate was not clean. "I had better wash it all, I suppose, as usual!" she thought impatiently, and banged open the tea-towel drawer with such force that Joan started out of her sleep.
"I'd have got the tray ready, if you'd left it, Miss Audrey," said Mary shortly.
"I wanted to make it look nice and tempting."
Poor Faith grew to look harassed and miserable. Whatever happened, she did not want a collision between Audrey and Mary. Mary was rough, and not thorough, but she was good-tempered, hard-working, and ready to turn her hand to anything.
Mr. Carlyle came into the kitchen. "Is breakfast nearly ready?" he asked, "it is nine o'clock, and I have a full day before me—why, Baby! what is the matter?" He stood looking down at his two flushed daughters, while Faith explained. "But I think she is better," she concluded eagerly, "look, daddy, she is smiling at you! If we are careful all day, I daresay she will be well to-morrow."