When Peggy rushed breathlessly into the kitchen at half-past twelve, there were the remnants of yesterday’s repast spread out on the table for her inspection, and not one single preparation made for the meal which was so near at hand. Cook was frigid, Peggy desperate, but difficulty had the effect of stimulating her faculties, and she approached the offended dignitary in a manner at once so ingenious and so beguiling that her anger melted away like snow before the sun.
“Emergency,” quoth Miss Peggy grandiloquently, smiling into the sullen face—“emergency is the test of genius! You have now one quarter of an hour in which to prepare a meal, and very poor material with which to work. Here is a chance to distinguish yourself! I am so ignorant that I had best leave you to your own resources; but anything you need from the store-room I will bring down at once. Just give me your orders!”
Could anything have been more diplomatic? To be asked at the eleventh hour to fulfil a definite order would have been an additional offence, but it was not in cook-nature not to rise to so insinuating a bait! Punctual to time such a tempting little luncheon appeared upon the table as evoked special praise from the fastidious master, the cook being commended for the success of omelette, entrée and savoury, and Peggy coming in for her own share of congratulation on her powers as a caterer. The crisis was passed, and passed successfully, but the anxiety consequent thereon had the beneficial effect of arousing Peggy’s attention to the danger of her own position, and giving a fresh lease of life to her energies. Mrs Beeton, the account book, and the keys were more in evidence than ever, and it was fully a fortnight before the second relapse recurred. It came on, however, slowly but surely, and other crises occurred which could not be so successfully overcome, as when Peggy drove a distance of three miles to interview butcher and fishmonger, and meeting Rob en route went off on a ferning expedition, returning home rosy and beaming, to discover an empty larder and a stormy parent; or again when she forgot the Thursday holiday, and deferred her orders until closed doors barred her entrance. The stores were frequently in request in those days, so that monotony became the order of the day, and the colonel inquired ironically if he were living in the Bush, since he was put on a diet of tinned food. Peggy peaked miserable brows, and said she never had seen such a stupid little village! She did her best. Only this very day she had left an enthralling story to cycle miles and miles to buy fish and meat, had suffered tortures en route from the heat and dust, and behold the shops were closed! It always was Thursday afternoon somehow. She could not think how it occurred. But the colonel was not so easily appeased. His moustache bristled and his eyes flashed with the steel-like glance which always came when he was annoyed.
“Excuses!” he thundered. “Idle excuses! It is your own fault for forgetting what it is your business to remember, and it only adds to the offence to shield yourself by blaming others. Fine thing this, to be starved in my own house by my own daughter! I’d better sell up at once and go and live in a club. If you were a practical, well-regulated young woman, as you ought to be, you would put business first, and make no more of these stupid blunders!”
“But I should be so uninteresting! Practical people who never make mistakes are such dreary bores. Novelty is the spice of life, father dear, and if you would only regard it in the right light, even a bad dinner is a blessing in disguise. It does so help one to appreciate a good one when it comes! At least you must acknowledge that there is no monotony in my method!”
But for once the colonel refused to smile, and when he had marched out of the room, Mrs Saville took advantage of the occasion to speak one of those rare words of admonition which were all-powerful in her daughter’s ear.
“Don’t worry your father, Peg darling!” she said. “It doesn’t matter for ourselves when we are alone, for we don’t care what we eat, but men are different. They like comfortable meals, and it is only right that they should have them. Give a little thought to your work, and try to arrange things more equally, so that we shall not have a feast one night and a fast the next. Little careless ways like these are more annoying to a man’s temper than more serious offences. It is difficult for you, I know, dearie, but I won’t offer to release you from the responsibility, for it will be valuable experience. Some day you will have a house of your own and a husband to consider.”
Peggy gave a grunt of disapproval.
“I’ll marry a vegetarian, and live on nuts,” she declared gloomily. “But I will try to do better, mummie dear, I will indeed, so don’t you worry your sweet head! I’ll be as good as a little automatic machine, and never forget nothing no more. When Eunice comes, I’ll ask her to say, ‘Lunch, lunch! Dinner, dinner!’ to me every morning regularly at nine o’clock, and then I can’t forget. I like Eunice! She is such an agreeable complement to myself. I can help her where she fails, and she can do the same for me. You will see, mother dear, that Eunice will exert a most beneficial influence over me! She is one of those gentle, mousy people who have an immense influence when they choose to exert it.”
“She seems to have that. I’ve noticed it more than once,” said Mrs Saville drily, and her eyes wandered to a closely written sheet which lay on the table by her side. It was Arthur’s latest letter, and in it his mother’s watchful eyes had discovered an unprecedented number of references to his chiefs daughter. “Miss Rollo did this; Miss Rollo did that; Miss Rollo said one thing and planned another.” Five separate times had that name been connected with Arthur’s own experiences. Mrs Saville drew her delicate brows together and heaved a sigh. A mother’s unselfishness is never perhaps so hardly tried as when she feels her ascendency threatened in the affections of an only son.