“That’s a good notion,” said Jim, sitting back on his heels, blacklead brush in hand. “I think I’ll go architecting with you, Nor. We’ll go in for all sorts of electric dodges; plugs in all the rooms to fix to vacuum cleaners you can work with one hand—most of ’em want two men and a boy; and electric washing-machines, and cookers, and fans and all kinds of things. And everybody will be using them, so electricity will have to be cheap.”
“I really couldn’t help listening to you,” said a deep voice in the doorway.
Every one jumped. It was Miss de Lisle, in her skimpy red overall—rather more flushed than usual, and a little embarrassed.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I heard voices—and I didn’t think any one lived here. I knocked, but you were all so busy you didn’t hear me.”
“So busy talking, you mean,” laughed Wally. “Terrible chatterboxes, Jim and Norah; they never get any work done.” A blacklead brush hurtled across the room: he caught it neatly and returned it to the owner.
“But you’re working terribly hard,” said the cook-lady, in bewilderment. “Is any one going to live here?”
Norah explained briefly. Miss de Lisle listened with interest, nodding her head from time to time.
“It’s a beautiful idea,” she said at length. “Fancy now, you rescuing those poor little children and their father and mother! It makes me feel quite sentimental. Most cooks are sentimental, you know: it’s such a—a warm occupation,” she added vaguely. “When I’m cooking something that requires particular care I always find myself crooning a love song!” At which Wally collapsed into such a hopeless giggle that Jim and Norah, in little better case themselves, looked at him in horror, expecting to see him annihilated. To their relief, Miss de Lisle grinned cheerfully.
“Oh, yes, you may laugh!” she said—whereupon they all did. “I know I don’t look sentimental. Perhaps it’s just as well; nobody would want a cook with golden hair and languishing blue eyes. And I do cook so much better than I sing! Now I’m going to help. What can I do?”
“Indeed, you’re not,” said Norah. “Thanks ever so, Miss de Lisle, but we can manage quite well.”