Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner. “Old Milly,” she said, “had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had got a collapse, as she called it.”
“Can’t Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham’s first dinner with them should be in style.
“Yes, but she can’t do everything—somebody must superintend her, and as for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the table, I won’t.”
“Why not make ’Lena go into the kitchen—it won’t hurt her to-day more than it did yesterday,” suggested Carrie.
“A good idea,” returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door she called ’Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr. Graham, who, the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now seemed oblivious to all else save her.
There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the expression of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well knew his mother’s peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present, while at the same time he wondered that his father should appear so deeply interested in an entire stranger.
“’Lena, I wish to speak with you,” said Mrs. Livingstone, appearing at the door, and ’Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the room, while Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner, ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly on his forehead.
Meantime, ’Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without a word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was with difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising within her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the former asked instead of commanded her to go, she would have done it willingly. But now in quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over pastry and pudding, scarcely knowing which was which, until a pleasant voice at her side made her start, and looking up she saw Anna, who had just returned from her walk, and who on learning how matters stood, declared her intention of helping too.
“If there’s anything I like, it’s being in a muss,” said she, and throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and fastening back her curls in imitation of ’Lena, she was soon up to her elbows in cooking—her dress literally covered with flour, eggs, and cream, and her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the china closet. “There’s a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham either,” said she, depositing in the huge oven her first attempt in the pie line.
But alas! Malcolm Everett’s words of love spoken beneath the wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna’s ears, so it was no wonder she salted the custard instead of sweetening it. But no one noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both ’Lena and Hagar praised its white, uncurdled appearance.