Going about the kitchen of the flat she made a new place of it. It became a hospitable place, a pleasant workshop, with the lobster unwrapped and lying on a platter, the mayonnaise quickly beaten to yellow smoothness, the sandwiches beginning to pile up on two plates and Ellen herself bustling about, but lending an ear of interest to the tale of the red georgette. “What you want to do with those sleeves, Fliss, is to slit them and then hemstitch them around the corners. I’ll turn them up this evening, slit them and to-morrow all you’ll have to do is to take them into the hemstitching shop down on Third Street and they’ll finish it for you. They won’t charge more than a quarter for that, though if I were you I’d rip off the lace yoke and we’ll turn that in and run a couple of lines of hemstitching around there and then, with that little organdy collar you wear on your velveteen, it’ll look like a new dress.” Fliss beamed. She knew that it would look like a new dress. She sat on the edge of the shelf, swinging her feet and really admiring Ellen. She liked Ellen’s lack of pose too, just as she liked the lack of pose in Cecily. It was so glorious not to have to pose or pretend. Meanwhile the little girl in her, the really often undernourished girl, was vastly enjoying the sandwiches which Ellen pressed upon her now and then. “Where are you now, Ellen?” “Nicest place I’ve ever been. I didn’t mean to take any more general work--just cooking--but I was asked specially to go to this place by Mrs. Granger and I like it. Just a bride and groom. Such a nice young couple and she is lovely to me. Helps me with the work wherever she can and so considerate.” “What’s her name?” “Mrs. Richard Harrison. Do you know her?” Fliss had a funny little sinking feeling. “Yes--a little--oh, yes.” “I thought you would probably. She’s very young--not more than your age I should say. Now, Fliss,” she caught a fleeting look on her cousin’s face, “I’ll not do anything that is going to make you feel bad.” “Oh, Ellen, I don’t mean----” “I know, Fliss--you don’t want to hurt me. You can’t help feeling a little though that you don’t like to have me work for your friends, me being your cousin and all, but you needn’t fuss. No one is going to know I’m your cousin unless you tell them. I decided that long ago.” Ellen had never been so frank or so expansive and Fliss felt a little ashamed, but somehow vastly relieved. She shifted the blame for her snobbery. “People are such fools, Ellen.” “I know.” With her fears laid to rest, Fliss began to get a glimpse of a silver lining. It wouldn’t be so bad to have Ellen at Cecily’s. She could get information about what Cecily liked, whom she entertained, and learn how to strengthen her friendship with Cecily. “She must have lovely things,” she began.