“Someone says,” remarked Erb, “that you’re the finest woman in Eaton Square, bar none.”
Cook laughed coquettishly. “That sounds like you, Mr. Barnes.”
“No fear,” said Erb. “Someone says that you’ll get engaged some day—”
“What nonsense!” interrupted Cook delightedly.
“If you only wear a thick veil over your face.”
“Look here!” said Cook definitely. “That’s enough of it. If I find out who said that I shall make no bones about it, but I shall go straight upstairs and complain to Lady Frances, so there now.”
“Someone says,” Erb went on, “that you’ve got such an uncommon size mouth that it would take three men and a boy to kiss you.”
“I don’t want to lose me temper,” said Cook heatedly, and speaking with no stops, “and I’m not going to but once I know who dared say that and I’ll go to the County Court first thing to-morrow morning and take out a summons against them people shan’t go saying just what they like about me behind me back without having to prove every single— No, no, I’m not getting cross nothing of the kind but once I know who so much as dared— It’s a silly stupid game and I can’t think why it was ever suggested.”
They were going back to dancing after this unsuccessful essay, when a quiet tap came at the door of the kitchen; and the couples, standing up to begin, suddenly released each other, the French lady’s maid crying humorously, “Ciel! c’est mon mari!” Conversation ceased, and Cook bustled forward and opened the door.
“May I come in, Cook, I wonder?”