"That's a good girl," I said kindly. "And hasten, please; my friend, Mr. Smith, is hungry; and he is not very amiable at such times."
We went into the empty house; she showed us our rooms.
"Luncheon will be served in half an hour, Messieurs," she said in her cheerful and surprisingly agreeable voice, through which a hidden vein of laughter seemed to run.
After she had gone Smith came through the connecting door into my room, drying his sunburned countenance on a towel.
"I didn't suppose she was so young," he said. "She's very young, isn't she?"
"Do you mean she's too young to cook decently?"
"No. I mean—I mean that she just seems rather young. I merely noticed it."
"Oh," said I without interest. But he lingered about, buttoning his collar.
"You know," he remarked, "she wouldn't be so bad looking if you'd take her and scrub her."
"I've no intention of doing it," I retorted.