“Miss Desborough has left some letters for you to answer,” she said to Rhoda pleasantly. “Can you do them at the side table? I am cooking in the sitting-room this morning. It was so hot in the kitchen. Miss Smythe will be in presently. She has a message for you from Clare.”
It was rather difficult to work at the side table, which was small and decidedly rickety; but Rhoda made no objection. She found her eyes wandering now and then to Rose, who had gone back to her pastry, and was spending many puzzled glances on the cookery book that was propped open before her.
“I mean to write a cookery book one day,” she exclaimed presently, in a tone of deep disgust. “And I mean to use simple language, and explain everything. I can’t understand this book a bit.”
Rhoda was on the point of offering her help, when the door was hastily opened and Pauline came in, with a bunch of daffodils in her hand. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of the pastry board.
“My darling Rose! Suppose Lady Desborough were to come back with Clare, what would she think?”
“It was so hot in the kitchen, Pauline,” Rose answered meekly. “And I do so want to learn how to cook. Mrs. Richards’ pastry is like leather. Just look here. This book says”—
But Pauline laughingly put it from her. “My dear child, it is worse than Greek to me. And I really do object to see lumps of raw dough about. Please take them away. I never like to think of my food till I see it on the table. Good-morning, Miss Sampson. When you have finished those letters you will not be required any more. I will pay you before you go. Miss Desborough has gone out with Lady Desborough.”
Clare had left a kind message for Rhoda, and when Pauline went into the next room to take off her hat, Rose hastened to give it.
“She was so sorry not to be here to say good-bye to you, Miss Sampson. She feels that you have been such a help to her.”
Rhoda had listened to Pauline with a smile faintly lurking at the corner of her firm lips, but now the smile flashed brightly out at Rose.