"I'd know in a minute, ma'am, that you had arranged things," said Foster, falling in readily with her husband's enthusiasm.
For an instant Mrs. Challoner shaded her eyes with her hand. The room, she knew only too well, was the very last expression of poverty, yet these two had shown a delicacy and kindness that she had supposed to be far beyond them.
"But where's your manners, Foster?" suddenly demanded Stevens. "Surely you might put your hands to fixing up that supper on the stove! Do now, like a good girl ..."
"Indeed, she must not—and in that lovely gown, too—besides, there is really nothing to do," Miriam Challoner quickly returned, for she could not bear to have Foster see what was cooking there.
"Oh, I'll be very careful, besides, it will seem natural to be doing things for you," persisted her former maid.
"Yes, take a look at the roast baking there in the oven, anyway," said Stevens; and no sooner had his wife turned her steps toward the kitchen, than he quickly leaned over to Mrs. Challoner, and thrusting something in her hand, he said in an undertone:—
"She's treasurer, ma'am, and I have to account for every penny; but this she knows nothing about. It's for you—please take it."
In an instant Mrs. Challoner was on her feet, and putting the money back in his hand, she exclaimed:—
"Why, Stevens, I can't take this! Really, I have money ..."
For a moment Stevens's eyes wandered about the poorly furnished room, betraying his thoughts to the contrary. This was not lost on Mrs. Challoner, who immediately went on to explain:—