At one o’clock Katy brought up Lucy’s luncheon. During the course of the morning Mrs. Merwent had been to the bedroom several times to make inquiries regarding her daughter’s condition, but Lucy, a cloth wet with _eau de Cologne_ on her forehead, her eyes closed defensively, had made barely audible replies to her mother’s interrogations. Nannie, on these occasions, patted the bed clothes, raised and lowered the window shades, and set to rights Lucy’s bureau and wash-stand, but, finding no further excuses for lingering, was finally obliged to leave the invalid in peace. When Nannie reentered the room early in the afternoon Lucy started to rise. “Don’t get up. I only wanted to ask you a question,” began Nannie. “Why, Lucy, you have been crying again.” “I still have a very bad headache,” interrupted Lucy. “You ought to control yourself and not give way to this abnormal melancholy.” Nannie’s tone was virtuous. Lucy rose and stood looking at her mother. “It’s about a pudding,” resumed Nannie. “I’m making it for dinner--that baked lemon custard you used to make at home; you remember. Do you use one dozen eggs, or two?” “It depends on how much custard you want to make,” said Lucy. “Oh, well--you know what I mean--enough for our family.” “I should use five eggs,” Lucy replied, holding one hand to her drawn forehead. “Wait a minute till I put it down.” Mrs. Merwent wrote on a scrap of paper which she had brought with her. “And how many lemons?” “Two.” “And two cups of sugar?” “No, three fourths of a cup.” “Why don’t you call me by my name, Lucy? Anyone would think you were talking to one of the tradesmen. You’re so brusque and curt. It makes me feel like I had done something terrible.” “Is that all?” demanded Lucy. “Why, yes--no--let’s see. Two cups of sugar?” “Three fourths of a cup,” repeated Lucy. “Wait a minute. I think I’ll just have Katy bring the things up here, so you can show me how to do it.” And Nannie ran down stairs, returning, followed by the old negress who was panting from the exertion of her hasty ascent to the upper floor, her arms laden with bowls and pans. Katy went back to the kitchen twice to bring the full assortment of ingredients and utensils. “Now,” said Nannie, when she had completed the mixing of the pudding under Lucy’s direction, “I hope it’ll be good. What are you wrinkling up your forehead so for, Lucy? Does your head still ache?” “Yes.” Lucy answered. “Law’s sakes, Miss Nannie, dere wa’n’t no sense in pesterin’ Miss Lucy wid dat ’ere custard at all. I cu’d ’a’ done it mase’f. I done made ’em a thousand times.” Old Katy glanced anxiously at Lucy’s pale face. “You just attend to what you’re told, Katy, and don’t give advice when you’re not asked for it,” Nannie retorted pettishly. “Yes, Miss Nannie. Suttenly, Miss Nannie. I didn’t mean no ha’m,” Katy apologized, beginning to carry the dishes and materials back to the kitchen.