“Diane, did your cook make those delicious rolls that were served with the fish?” Mrs. Price asked abruptly.
Diane looked up blankly.
“Why, of course! She’s very proud of them, too. Haven’t you ever tasted them before?”
“I don’t think so, and I’m sure I should remember. They were so crisp! I’ve got a new cook—did Fan tell you? She’s dreadful. Poor Edward says she’s ruining his digestion, and I’d better try a fireless cooker instead. Can’t you let me have that recipe for her?”
“It wouldn’t do any good, mama. She’s a Norwegian, Di, and she understands so little English that when she tries to talk it sounds like a turkey gobbling.”
Fanny began to give a practical illustration, but her mother protested.
“Hush! Here are the gentlemen, and they’ll think you’re crazy, child!”
Fanny stopped, with a queer little grimace that made Diane laugh. They were interrupted by the entrance of Dr. Gerry and Arthur Faunce, who were a little in advance of the judge and the dean. Diane found herself engaged in conversation by the old doctor, who began by remarking that she was too pale, and that he suspected she sat up half the night to read novels.
Diane, who knew that this was merely an excuse to give him an opportunity to probe her inmost mind, parried it lightly, and engaged him in an animated discussion of the latest best-seller.
“Advertisement—nothing but advertisement!” he declared bruskly. “In my young days a novel had to be good to be read. Now it’s an even thing between the man who’s written a book and the man who’s invented a bunion-eraser—it all depends on which gets the most advertising!”