t once, Madam?"

"Certainly, at once."

"Before I clear away?"

"What do you want to clear away?"

"The breakfast things, Madam. And,--and the fish-man can't wait."

"Tell him to call again then, later on."

"He's on his rounds, Madam. He only calls the once."

"The fishmonger be--" Grizel coughed audibly, remindful of
responsibilities towards the young. It was borne in upon her that the
moment which she had dreaded was upon her, and could no longer be
escaped. The fish-man was waiting, could not wait, could not return; it
therefore behoved the mistress of the household to repair to the kitchen
and interview the cook. She rose from the packing case, gathered her
skirts around her, and turned to the door.

"Kindly go and tell Mrs Mason that I am coming!"

Mrs Mason was on duty beside the kitchen table. Having heard from
Parsons' lips a bated account of her lady's splendour, she also was
setting forth on the day's duties with a flavour of excitement. Spread
out neatly in rows were the remains of last evening's repast. Cold
fish, cold cutlets, dishevelled chicken, half-eaten sweets. Grizel, who
had never before been called upon to interview food in _deshabille_,
turned from the sight with a shudder.

"You can use those up in the kitchen." The cook acquiesced, and
concealed her complaisance.

"And what would you like for the room?"

"In future," said Grizel firmly, "I should like the menu for the day
drawn out, ready to be submitted to me every morning."

"I have never been uzed--" began the cook, then her eyes met those of
her mistress, and to her own amazement she found herself concluding
lamely, "Of course if you wish it, 'Um, I must try! ... The fish-man is
waiting for horders."

"_Au diable avec le poissonnier_!" ejaculated Grizel _sotto voce_. She
leant back against the corner of the dresser, the tail of her white robe
folded round in front, displaying the small pink shoes to cook's
appraising eyes. Her eyes roamed here and there over the kitchen, but
studiously avoided the provisions on the table. From the region of the
back door sounded a whistle, impatient and peremptory. The cook glanced
around, glanced back at the pink and white figure standing with head on
one side, leisurely regarding the arrangement of brass on the
mantelpiece, and was goaded into the extreme course of making a
suggestion.

"P'raps... soles!"

"Oh, certainly!" cried Grizel swiftly. "Soles."

The cook ambl