"You're good enough!——"
"Oh, no!" she demurred, with her enchanting smile, "but my friend, Josephine Vannis, is an excellent cook. Besides I had rather wait on table—with Monsieur's permission."
I said regretfully, remembering the omelette, "Very well, Thusis. Now I also need a farmer."
"I know a young man. His name is Raoul Despres."
"Fine! And I want to buy some cows and goats and chickens——"
"Raoul will cheerfully purchase what stock Monsieur requires."
"Thusis, you are quite wonderful."
"Thank you," she said, lifting her dark-fringed gray eyes, the odd little half-smile in the curling corners of her lips. It was extraordinary how the girl made me think of my photograph upstairs.
"What is your sister's name?" I inquired—hoping I was not consciously making conversation as an excuse to linger in my cook's kitchen.
"Her name is Clelia."