rit, the late Sir Thomas
had decided on giving her a trial, and had discovered that he had never
dined in his life as he dined when Hester Dethridge was at the head of
his kitchen. She remained after his death in his widow's service. Lady
Lundie was far from liking her. An unpleasant suspicion attached to the
cook, which Sir Thomas had over-looked, but which persons less sensible
of the immense importance of dining well could not fail to regard as
a serious objection to her. Medical men, consulted about her case
discovered certain physiological anomalies in it which led them to
suspect the woman of feigning dumbness, for some reason best known
to herself. She obstinately declined to learn the deaf and dumb
alphabet--on the ground that dumbness was not associated with deafness
in her case. Stratagems were invented (seeing that she really did
possess the use of her ears) to entrap her into also using her speech,
and failed. Efforts were made to induce her to answer questions relating
to her past life in her husband's time. She flatly declined to reply
to them, one and all. At certain intervals, strange impulses to get a
holiday away from the house appeared to seize her. If she was resisted,
she passively declined to do her work. If she was threatened with
dismissal, she impenetrably bowed her head, as much as to say, "Give
me the word, and I go." Over and over again, Lady Lundie had decided,
naturally enough, on no longer keeping such a servant as this; but she
had never yet carried the decision to execution. A cook who is a perfect
mistress of her art, who asks for no perquisites, who allows no waste,
who never quarrels with the other servants, who drinks nothing stronger
than tea, who is to be trusted with untold gold--is not a cook easily
replaced. In this mortal life we put up with many persons and things,
as Lady Lundie put up with her cook. The woman lived, as it were, on the
brink of dismissal--but thus far the woman kept her place--getting her
holidays when she asked for them (which, to do her justice, was not
often) and sleeping always (go where she might with the family) with a
locked door, in a room by herself.

Hester Dethridge advanced slowly to the table at which Lady Lundie was
sitting. A slate and pencil hung at her side, which she used for making
such replies as were not to be expressed by a gesture or by a motion
of the head. She took up the slate and pencil, and waited with stony
submission for her mist