He made a wry face.
“Of course, if I must read I will,” he said; “but I’d much rather help cook.”
“You can if you like.”
“That’s jolly of you.”
He threw his overcoat over the back of a chair, and together they made their way to the kitchen.
“I had no idea a sole had its face powdered before being put in a fry-pan,” he observed, and made her laugh merrily.
“It goes in like a white Parisian, and comes out a sunburnt Spaniard,” she returned.
“You look as if some sun would do you no harm.”
“I dare say it wouldn’t. Haven’t tried the experiment. Would you like to be useful and lay the table in the front room?”
“Oh, can’t we eat here?”