“Is it ready?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, will you go down and see, and tell them to take it in at once if they haven’t done so?  I know father wants his supper.”

“I—­think,” said Betty thoughtfully, “—­p’r’aps you had better go yourself.  Fanny said—­Fanny’s manners are awful; I think father ought to send them both away—­”

“What did Fanny say?”

“Fanny told me—­well, she said she would rather I—­didn’t go into the kitchen again—­yet.”

Kitty groaned.  “What have you done to vex them both so, Betty?”

“I only tried to see that the table was nicely laid, and everything just as you told me; and because I took out all the glasses and told Emily they were dirty, she got as cross as anything; and they really were dirty, for I showed her all the finger-marks, so it wasn’t as if I was complaining about nothing.  If I’d ’cused her wrongly I shouldn’t wonder at her getting mad; but I hadn’t, and she couldn’t deny it.  The forks were dirty too; at least I showed her six that were.”

Without any comment Kitty left the room and descended to the kitchen.  All the way she went she was dreading what she should find when she got there, and wondering how she should best approach matters, and it was a relief to her on opening the kitchen door to find that Fanny was alone.  Fanny was looking cross enough at that moment to daunt any ordinary courage, but, somehow, Kitty never felt as alarmed of her as of Emily.

“Well, Fanny,” she began, intending to ignore the hints and rumours that had reached her, “we have got back.  We were wet through nearly, and now father and I are longing for our supper.  Have you got something very nice for us?” She tried to speak cheerfully, but it cost her a great effort.

Fanny took up the poker and made an attack on the stove.  “You never ordered nothing, Miss Kitty, and ’tisn’t my place to say what you should have.”

“Oh but, Fanny, you generally do,” said Kitty, half inclined to be indignant at Fanny’s injustice, for she could not help remembering how Fanny, as a rule, resented any attempt on her part to order or arrange the meals.  She knew, though, that her only chance now was to be patient, and to ignore a good many things.  “And you manage so well, so much better than I can.”  She felt she must say something to restore peace and amiability, if they were to have any supper at all that night, and not incur greater disgrace than she had already.

“I don’t want to boast,” said Fanny, “’tisn’t my nature to do so, but if I’m gived a free hand, well—­I can turn out a passable meal; but when one doesn’t like this and the other doesn’t like that, and nothing I do is right, and there’s nothing but rows and squabblings in the kitchen, and no peace nowhere—­well, I gives it all up!  P’r’aps somebody else could manage better.”