The soup alone would have
sufficed to cast a gloom over any meal that it had inaugurated, and it
was not redeemed by anything that followed. Eleanor said little, but
when she spoke there was a hint of tears in her voice that was far more
eloquent than outspoken denunciation would have been, and even the
insouciant Ronald showed traces of depression when he tasted the rognons
Saltikoff.
"Not quite the best luncheon I've enjoyed in your house," said Eleanor at
last, when her final hope had flickered out with the savoury.
"My dear, it's the worst meal I've sat down to for years," said her
hostess; "that last dish tasted principally of red pepper and wet toast.
I'm awfully sorry. Is anything the matter in the kitchen, Pellin?" she
asked of the attendant maid.
"Well, ma'am, the new cook hadn't hardly time to see to things properly,
coming in so sudden--" commenced Pellin by way of explanation.
"The new cook!" screamed Mrs. Attray.
"Colonel Norridrum's cook, ma'am," said Pellin.
"What on earth do you mean? What is Colonel Norridrum's cook doing in my
kitchen--and where is my cook?"
"Perhaps I can explain better than Pellin can," said Ronald hurriedly;
"the fact is, I was dining at the Norridrums' yesterday, and they were
wishing they had a swell cook like yours, just for to-day and to-morrow,
while they've got some gourmet staying with them: their own cook is no
earthly good--well, you've seen what she turns out when she's at all
flurried.
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