"You don't look it!" said Martin, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, tilted back in his chair and sat staring across the table, his eyes alight with admiration. A fire blazed in the grate, but Grizel's morning robe suggested the height of summer. It was composed of some sort of white woollen material, which showed glimpses of a delicate pink lining. She wore a boudoir cap too, a concoction of lace and pink ribbon at once rakish and demure. Martin was certain that she looked a duck, what he was uncertain about was the suitability of such plumage for the mistress of a small _menage_. Had he not kept house for eight years with a sister who had visited the larder every morning, and kept a stern eye on stock-pot and bread-pan, clad in the triggest of blouses, and the shortest of plain serge skirts! His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Is it your intention to visit the scullery in those garments, may I ask?" Grizel tilted in her turn, and returned his stare with an enchanting smile. She looked young and fresh, and adorably dainty; an ideal bride _deluxe_. "In the first place," she said, dimpling, "what precisely is, and does-- a scullery?" "A scullery, my child, is an apartment approximate to, and an accessory of, a kitchen. It is equipped with a sink, and is designed for the accommodation of pots and pans, brushes and brooms. Likewise boots, and er--uncooked vegetables. Every mistress of a small establishment visits the kitchen and scullery at least once in the twenty-four hours." Grizel considered the subject, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. "Why vegetables?" "Why not?" "_With_ brushes and boots?" "It seems unsuitable, I grant. But they do. I've seen them when I've been locking up. On the floor. In a wooden box. Carrots and turnips, and potatoes in their skins." Grizel straightened herself determinedly, and attacked her breakfast. "I shall _never_ visit the scullery!" she said firmly. "It would spoil my appetite. Thank you so much for warning me, ducky doo!" "Not at all. It was an exhortation. The cook will expect it of you. So shall I. You must kindly remember the sink." "I take your word for it. Suppose there is? What in the name of fortune has it to do with me?" "It's your sink, Madam. Part of your new-found responsibilities. I don't wish to harrow your susceptibilities, but it might not be kept clean. It is for you to see that it is." "You should have told me that afore, Laddie!" warbled Grizel reproachfully. "Nobody never warned me I should have to poke about sinks! And I won't neither. It's a waste of skilled labour. Aren't there lots of sanitary kind of people who make their living by that sort of work? Let's have one to look after ours!" "Every morning?" "Why not? Every evening too, if you like." Martin burst into a roar of laughter, and stretched a hand across the table.