“No, really?” He broke off and stretched out a hand in alarm. “I say, you weren’t thinking of having one of those rock cakes, were you?”
“I was. But I won’t if you don’t want me to. Aren’t they good?”
“Good? My dear old soul,” said Mr. Braddock earnestly, “they are Clara’s worst effort—absolutely her very worst. I had to eat one because she came and stood over me and watched me do it. It beats me why you don’t sack that girl. She’s a rotten cook.”
“Sack Claire?” Kay laughed. “You might just as well try to sack her mother.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“You can’t sack a Lippett.”
“No, I see what you mean. I wish she wasn’t so dashed familiar with a fellow, though.”
“Well, she has known you almost as long as I have. Mrs. Lippett has always been a sort of mother to you, so I suppose Claire regards herself as a sort of sister.”
“Yes, I suppose it can’t be helped,” said Mr. Braddock bravely. He glanced at his watch. “Ought to be going and dressing. I’ll find you out here before I leave?”
“Oh, yes.”