“Dr. Schottman tells me that you have been the only help in the family. I suppose you have done only plain cooking?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, you will have no trouble learning our likes and dislikes, and the way things must be served. Miss Wells will prepare most of Mrs. Blaydon’s meals, which are separate. The present cook is to stay until the end of the month, and that will give you plenty of time to catch on. And you mustn’t be afraid. We expect to make allowances. Of course, your wages will begin at once, but I can’t tell just what they should be until we try you, so we won’t discuss that to-day.”
“Oh, not at all, ma’am—” began Ellen, and stopped suddenly. “Aunt Mathilda” covered her embarrassment by rising, and Ellen stood also, with her child in her arms. The act brought them close enough together for Mrs. Seymour to see the baby’s face.
“What a sweet little thing,” she said, and smiled cordially at Ellen. “I hope you are going to be happy here, Mrs. Williams. Marie will show you your room and give you everything you need. Don’t bother about your bags. John can take them up at once.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Ellen. She stood hesitating, after saying a halting, awkward good-bye to the doctor. It was not easy to leave his friendly presence and impossible to thank him as she wanted to. But she turned and in the wake of Marie climbed the broad front steps.
Their carved, heavy banisters and the thick rugs rebuked her. It was as though she realized that in this well-ordered house it would be rarely indeed that she would tread them. Here she was more definitely placed than she would ever have been at the Meadowburns’.
As they passed the second story landing two very small, cleanly dressed boys came out of a big bedroom, with a matronly hospital nurse between them.
VII
Ellen spent her days learning more about the quaint art of cookery than she ever dreamed there was to know, and discovering the ways of rich people which were strange indeed.