“You're all right,” she nodded to them. “I can use you. You don't have to be cooked, bless your hearts! But _you_--!” Billy scowled at the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index of the “Bride's Helper”--Billy knew how to handle that book now. “No, you don't--not for me!” she muttered, after a minute, shaking her finger at the tenderloin on the table. “I haven't got any 'hot coals,' and I thought a 'gridiron' was where they played football; though it seems it's some sort of a dish to cook you in, here--but I shouldn't know it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should see it. No, sir! It's back to the refrigerator for you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? _Cooked_,” she finished, as she carried the beefsteak away and took possession of the hitherto despised cold lamb. Once more Billy made a mad search through cupboards and shelves. This time she bore back in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and a glass jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen a cheery bubbling from the potatoes on the stove greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the steam. “There, Spunkie,” she said gayly to the cat, who had just uncurled from a nap behind the stove. “Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And maybe we'll have the peach fritters, too,” she chirped. “I've got the peach-part, anyway.” But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after all. She got out the sugar and the flour, to be sure, and she made a great ado looking up the rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her into the dining-room to set the table, and all thought of the peach fritters was given up. CHAPTER X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell came. Bertram gave his peculiar ring and let himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not meet him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. Excusing himself, Bertram hurried up-stairs. Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that floor. She was not in William's room. Coming down-stairs to the hall again, Bertram confronted William, who had just come in. “Where's Billy?” demanded the young husband, with just a touch of irritation, as if he suspected William of having Billy in his pocket. William stared slightly. “Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?” “I'll ask Pete,” frowned Bertram. In the dining-room Bertram found no one, though the table was prettily set, and showed half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen--in the kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling tin, an odor of burned food--, a confusion of scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered at him from under a littered stove, and a flushed, disheveled young woman in a blue dust-cap and ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his wife. “Why, Billy!” he gasped. Billy, who was struggling with something at the sink, turned sharply.