Mother, getting very red, explained that George is very little at home, so that in one way he didn't count, but in another way he did, for he is very particular and has to be cooked for specially. Being an author, he has got a very delicate appetite. "A proud stomach, I understand ye. Well, I shall hope to give him satisfaction." She said that as if she would have liked to add, "or I'll know the reason why." She seemed quite to have settled in her own mind that she was going to take our place. She "blessed Mother's bonny face" before that interview was over, and passed me over entirely. She came in in a week, and the first time she saw George she was "doing her hall." Ariadne and I were there as George's hansom drove up and he got out and began a shindy with the cabman. "Honeys, this will be your father, I'm thinking!" she said. Perhaps she expected us to rush into his arms, but we didn't; we knew better. We just said "Hallo!" and waited till he was disengaged with the cabman, who wanted too much, as we are beyond the radius. George didn't give it to him, but a good talking to instead. The new cook stopped sweeping--servants always stop their work when there is something going on that doesn't concern them, and looked quite pleased with George. "He can explain himself, and no mistake!" she said to Sarah afterwards, and she cooked a splendid dinner that night, for, says she to Sarah, "seemed to her he was the kind of master who'd let a woman know if she didn't suit him." She doesn't "make much account of childer," in fact I think she hates them, for when Ariadne showed her the young shoots in a pot of snowdrops she was bringing up, and said, "See, cook, they have had babies in the night!" Elizabeth, meaning to be civil, said, "Dis_gust_ing things, miss!"