"Let us look up the cook," says Sir Mark, at which they all brighten up again and stream triumphantly towards the kitchen. As they reach the door a sensation akin to nervousness makes them all move more slowly, and consequently with so little noise that Dulce does not hear their approach. She is so standing, too, that she cannot see them, and as she is talking with much spirit and condescension they all stop again to hear what she is saying. She has evidently made it straight with cook, as that formidable old party is standing at her right hand with her arms akimbo, and on her face a fat and genial smile. She has, furthermore, been so amiable as to envelop Dulce in a _second_ apron; one out of her own wardrobe, an article of the very hugest dimensions, in which Dulce's slender figure is utterly and completely lost. It comes up in a little square upon her bosom and makes her look like a delicious over-grown baby, with her sleeves tucked up and her bare arms gleaming like snow-flakes. Opposite to her is the footman, and very near her the upper housemaid. Dulce being in her most moral mood, has seized this opportunity to reform the manners of the household. "You are most satisfactory, you know, Jennings," she is saying in her soft voice that is trying so hard to be mistress-like, but is only sweet. "Most so! Sir Christopher and I both think that, but I do wish you would try to quarrel just a _little_ less with Jane." At this Jane looks meekly delighted while the footman turns purple and slips his weight uneasily from one leg to the other. "It isn't all my fault, ma'am," he says at length, in an aggrieved tone. "No, I can quite believe that," says his mistress, kindly. "I regret to say I have noticed several signs of ill temper about Jane of late." Here Jane looks crestfallen, and the footman triumphant. "I wish you would _both_ try to improve," goes on Dulce, in a tone meant to be still dignified, but which might almost be termed entreating. "_Do_ try. You will find it so much pleasanter in the long run." Both culprits, though silent, show unmistakable signs of giving in. "If you only knew how unhappy these endless dissensions make me, I am sure you _would_ try," says Miss Blount, earnestly, which, of course, ends all things. The maid begins to weep copiously behind the daintiest of aprons; while the footman mutters, huskily: "Then I _will_ try, ma'am," with unlooked-for force. "Oh, _thank_ you," says Dulce, with pretty gratitude, under cover of which the two belligerents make their escape. "Well done," says Sir Mark at this moment; "really, Dulce, I didn't believe it was in you. Such dignity, such fervor, such tact, such pathos! We are all very nearly in tears. I would almost promise not to blow up Jane myself, if you asked me like that."