“I never tasted anything of the kind so good,” said Miss Panney, “and I am a judge, for I have lived long and eaten meals prepared by the best cooks.”

“French, perhaps,” said La Fleur.

“Oh, yes,” was the reply, “and those of other nations.  I have travelled.”

“I could see that,” said La Fleur, “by your appreciation of my work.  French cooking is the best in the world, and if you have an English cook to do it, then there is nothing more to be desired.  It is like the French china, with the English designs, which they make now.  I once visited their works, and was very proud of my countrymen.”

“The conceited old body,” thought Miss Panney; but she said, “Very true, very true.  It is delightful to me to think that my friends here have a cook who can prepare meals which are truly fit, not only to nourish the body without doing it any harm, but to gratify the most intelligent taste.  I have noticed, La Fleur, that there is always something about your dishes that pleases the eye as well as the palate.  When we say that cooking is thoroughly wholesome, delicious, and artistic, we can say no more.”

“You do me proud,” said La Fleur, “and I hope, madam, that you may eat many a meal of my cooking.  I want to say this, too:  I could not cook for Dr. and Mrs. Tolbridge as I do, if I did not feel that they appreciate my work.  I know they do, and so I am encouraged to do my best.”

“Not only does the doctor appreciate you,” said Miss Panney, “but his health depends upon you.  He is a man who is peculiarly sensitive to bad cooking.  I have known him all his life, and known him well.  He was getting in a bad way, La Fleur, when you came here, and you are already making a new man of him.”

“I like to hear that,” said La Fleur.  “I have a high opinion of Dr. Tolbridge.  I know what he is and what he needs.  I often sit up late at night, thinking of things that will be good for him, and which he will like.  We all work here:  every one of the household is industrious, but the doctor and I are the only ones who must work with our brains.  The others simply work with their bodies and hands.”

Miss Panney fixed her black eyes on the bulbous-faced cook.

“The word conceit,” she thought, “is imbecile in this case.”

“I am glad you are both so well able to do it,” she said aloud.  “And you like it here?  The place suits you?”

“Oh, yes, madam,” replied La Fleur; “it suits me very well.  It is not what I am accustomed to, but I gave up all that of my own accord.  Life in great houses has its advantages and its pleasures, and its ambitions, too; but I am getting on in years, and I am tired of the worry and bustle of large households.  I came to this country to visit my relatives, and to rest and enjoy myself; but I soon found that I could not live without cooking.  You might as well expect Dr. Tolbridge to live without reading.”

“That is very true, La Fleur,” said Miss Panney; “and it seems to me that you are in the very home where you can spend the rest of your days most profitably to others, and most happily to yourself.  And yet I hear that you are considering the possibility of not staying here.”