“The only art in this French icing is to have everything ready before you begin coloring and flavoring, to have almonds, if you use them, blanched and chopped,—in short, have to leave off for nothing; then you can work quickly, and the icing is not allowed to cool, and will not need reheating once or twice before you have finished. At first such quickness may not be easy, and if the icing chills, you will find it unmanageable; all you have to do is to return it in the water to the fire, and melt as at first; it will usually stand melting two or three times before getting grainy. Stir, while melting, only enough to mix the melted and unmelted together. Of course it is always easier to melt a quantity of icing in a bowl, and do a number of cakes, than a table-spoonful as I have done, because it holds the heat better, and you have abundance to work from; but I don’t want to destroy the delicacy of what I put away by melting all up. You see I have a little ball left.” She had gathered the icing from the cups and spoon and worked it between her hands into a little shining ball, simply to show Marta what could be done if more had been left. “This is not worth putting away, but several little marbles like these if dipped into melted chocolate would make chocolate creams. You see how one thing leads to another in cooking.” The custard was now cold, the bananas were stirred into it and they were put into the freezer, and ice and salt in the proportion of one third salt were packed round it. After it had stood a few minutes, Marta turned it for a quarter of an hour, when it was frozen. Just as Molly was about to begin to write directions for the scalloped potatoes, concluding she herself would need to make only the Hollandaise sauce, and could leave the dinner to Marta, a hack drove up to the door, and Molly saw Harry’s mother and father in it. To say she did not tremble would not be correct; for an instant her heart sank; if she had only known they were coming! She wondered if everything was as nice as she would wish it in the little sitting-room. She generally had it, not trim, or oppressively tidy, but with only the pleasant disorder of a room that is lived in; but Marta had a way sometimes of leaving her brush or dustpan—sometimes a kitchen cloth—where it ought not to be. Molly looked at herself, but she was neat, and no one had a right to expect a housewife at eleven in the morning to be ready for company. While Marta went to the door she removed her apron and washed her hands, and when she reëntered the kitchen just waited to say:— “Marta, make some of your nice noodles at once; leave your up-stairs sweeping till later, and I’ll let you know what to get for lunch.” She passed into the parlor, having in the short interval recovered her composure, and welcomed her unexpected visitors as if their coming were a pleasant surprise, and not an embarrassment.