“No,” the poor girl said dolefully. “You see, I never had time for it at home. I used to ride and go out with my brothers a good deal, and there were always people straying in to talk.”
“But what about your cook?” I suggested. “I find that she fills my day so completely that I have no time to think, or to paint in water-colours.”
“My cook!” she said with astonishment. “Why, there are only ten minutes in the day when I am allowed to see her.”
“Now, look here,” I said; “you must learn this sooner or later, and we are all among friends—that is a ruse of hers, like an ogre pretending that he is out district-visiting all day, and that the little girls he brings home are orphans whom he is taking care of. She just does that to get your confidence. Then, by and by, she’ll begin inviting you down for a minute or two at a time——”
“Why, she did ask me to come down and look at the tomatoes to-day, just before I came out,” reflected the bride.
“That’s it!” I exclaimed, slapping my plate triumphantly. “To-day it was the tomatoes, to-morrow it will be the sausage-skewers: there will be one missing, and she will wish you to see for yourself, so that there can be no misunderstanding later on. The next day it will be two things: to smell the rabbits in the morning, and see whether you—a young, inexperienced child—think it wise to cook them——”
“But, my dear,” interrupted Mrs. Beehive, “surely there is no harm in that, and Mrs. Spicer would prefer to make sure.”
“Do you know how a rabbit ought to smell?” I asked the bride, in fairness, “because I don’t know to this day. It all seems to me equally uninviting.”
“I didn’t know they ought to smell at all,” the girl murmured.
“You’ve a lot to learn,” I said kindly. “Anyhow—rabbits in the morning, and in the afternoon, say, perhaps, that it is early closing day and she had forgotten that you would want butter.”