"Monsieur has orders for the household?" she inquired in her sweet, grave voice of a child.
That floored me. I had spoken about giving my orders through her. I didn't know what orders to give.
"Certainly," said I,—"hum-hum! Let me see.—Let—me—see," I repeated. "Yes—certainly—the orders must be given—hum-hum!——"
But what the devil I was to order I hadn't the vaguest idea.
"We'll have luncheon at one," I said, desperately. She made no observation. I grew redder.
"We'll dine, too," I added. Her gray eyes mocked me but her mouth drooped respectfully.
"For further orders," said I, "c-come b-back in half an hour. No, don't do that! Wait a moment. I—I really don't know what sort of an establishment I have here. Hadn't I better make a tour of inspection?"
"Monsieur will please himself."
"I think I'd better inspect things."
"What things, Monsieur?"