This morning the radiance returned at the prospect of Cook's face when she heard of the impending trial. Grizel did not think of her own face as she sat at the head of her table awaiting the serving of dishes prepared by a good plain cook. She had seen that expression more than once of late on the faces of worthy Chumley hostesses. It was a compound expression, which included a smile, a determined animation of the eyes, and withal a pucker, a tightening, a tenseness of anxiety. For all their forced gaiety the eyes had a faraway expression; they were penetrating through dividing walls, peering into saucepans, anxiously regarding the preparation of sauce. Grizel had been quick to diagnose the symptoms, but her sympathy had been lacking. "Hang it all, it's not her fault! _She_ didn't cook it!" had been the mental comment. Cook, as had been expected, folded her arms and assumed an expression of acute resignation. "_Ten_ did you say, 'Um? Twelve with yourselves. I'm not sure that the range... How many courses were you thinking of having?" "Oh, dozens. As many as we can have. If we do it at all, Cook, we'll do it well." "Clear soup?" "We haven't come to soup yet," said Grizel cheerfully. "Lots of things before soup." "When I lived at the Robertses we were always giving dinners, but they studied me, as well as themselves," Cook replied poignantly. "Soup, of course, and fish, but she got in the entrees, to give me a clear hand with the joint. Fowls mostly, or a saddle of mutton. The sweets were cold, and she got in the savouries, and sometimes an ice pudding. Then there was cheese straws, and dessert. She always said I managed very well." "You would do!" Grizel said. "Well, now you shall have a change. I won't have anything at all like that..." It was by this time easy to make a selection of guests, as every visitable house in Chumley had made its own individual effort towards entertaining the bride. Sometimes it was dinner, more often it was tea, and, as Grizel pathetically declared, not even a _real_ tea, a tea where you could sit quietly in a comfortable chair, and gossip, and consume rich cake. A tea as enjoyed in Chumley was a strenuous affair, when guests were bidden from four to six, and were expected to rack their brains over a number of nerve-racking problems. The first invitation of the sort that Grizel received was for a Kate Tea. She misread the first word for Cake, and thought it suitable, if a trifle ostentatious, but as she afterwards informed Cassandra, the awakening was rude. "It was `Kate,' my dear, not cake,--a wretched Kate that haunted us all afternoon. Did you realise that every second word in the English language ends with Kate? Well, it does! and Mrs Morley read out a story, and we had to fill in the gaps with Kate words. Kate had an untruthful nature and was given to prevari-Kate, so she got into trouble, and engaged an advo-Kate. See?" Cassandra groaned.