pectful she seemed. Her
name's rather unusual, but that isn't her fault. Pauline Roper. I fancy
she's by way of being an expert. She's got a certificate from some
institute of cookery, and her sister's a trained nurse in Welbeck
Street. That's why she wants to be in London. What's the return fare
from Torquay?" she added. "I said I'd pay it, if I took up her
reference."

"Oh, something under five pounds," said Berry.

"What!"

"My dear," said her husband, "if the expenditure of that sum were to
ensure me a breakfast the very sight of which did not make my gorge
rise, I should regard it as a trustee investment."

Reference to a time-table showed that the price of Pauline Roper's
ticket would be two pounds nine shillings and fourpence halfpenny.

Somewhat to our surprise and greatly to our relief, the day passed
without another application for the post of cook, personal or otherwise.

To celebrate the solitary but promising response to our S.O.S. signal,
and the prospect which it afforded of an early deliverance from our
state, we dined at the _Berkeley_ and went to the play.

On returning home we found a telegram in the hall. It had been handed in
at Paris, and ran as follows:

_Cook called Camille Francois leaving for Cholmondeley Street to-morrow
aaa can speak no English so must be met at Dover aaa boat due 4.15 aaa
Jonah._

* * * * *

The train roared through Ashford, and Berry looked at his watch. Then he
sighed profoundly and began to commune with himself in a low tone.

"_Mille pardons, madame. Mais vous etes Camille Francois? Non? Quel
dommage! Dix mille pardons. Adieu._ ... Deuce of a lot of 'milles,'
aren't there? I wonder if there'll be many passengers. And will she come
first-class, or before the mast? You know, this is a wild mare's chest,
and that's all there is to it. We shall insult several hundred women,
miss the cook, and probably lose Pauline into the bargain. What did I
come for?"

"Nonsense," said Jill stoutly. "Jonah's told her to look out for us."

"I'll bet he never thought I should be fool enough to roll up, so she
won't expect me. As a matter of fact, if he's described any one, he's
probably drawn a lifelike word-picture of Daphne."

"It's no good worrying," said I. "The only thing to do is to address
every woman who looks in the least like a cook as she steps off the
gangway. When we do strike her, Jill can carry on."

"It's all very well," said