“Somebody has to prepare it.”
“That is a mere nothing,” said Imogen, and she took another stitch.
After a little, Jane and Eliza went by themselves and discussed the problem.
“It is quite evident that Imogen means to do nothing,” said Jane.
“And also that she will justify herself by the theory that there is nothing to be done,” said Eliza.
“Oh, well,” said Jane, “I will get up and get breakfast, of course. I once contemplated the prospect of doing it the rest of my life.”
Eliza assented. “I can understand that it will not be so hard for you,” she said, “and although I myself always aspired to higher things than preparing breakfasts, still, you did not, and it is true that you would probably have had it to do if poor Henry had lived, for he was not one to ever have a very large salary.”
“There are better things than large salaries,” said Jane, and her face looked sadly reminiscent. After all, the distinction of being the only one who had been on the brink of preparing matrimonial breakfasts was much. She felt that it would make early rising and early work endurable to her, although she was not an active young woman.
“I will get a dish-mop and wash the dishes,” said Eliza. “I can manage to have an instructive book propped open on the kitchen table, and keep my mind upon higher things as I do such menial tasks.”
Then Susan stood in the doorway, a tall figure gracefully swaying sidewise, long-throated and prominent-eyed. She was the least attractive-looking of any of the sisters, but her manners were so charming, and she was so perfectly the lady, that it made up for any lack of beauty.