Of the comfort, the beauty, and the harmony of all this, however,
Rachael saw and felt nothing. Her brief interview with her husband
had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She felt neither courage nor
appetite for the new day. Annie carried away the blue bowl of
porridge untouched, reporting to Ellie: "She don't want no eggs,
nor sausage, nor waffles--nothing more!"
Ellie, the cook, who boarded a four-year-old daughter with the
gardener and his wife, at the gate-lodge, was deep in the robust
charms of this young person, and not sorry to be uninterrupted.
"Thank goodness she don't," she said. "Do you want a little waffle
all for yourself, Lovey? Do you want to pour the batter into Ma's
iron yourself? Pin a napkin round her, Annie! An' then you can eat
it out on the steps, darlin', because it just seems to be a shame
to spend a minute indoors when God sends us a mornin' like this!"
"It must have been grand, walking to church this morning, all
right," said Alfred, who was busy with golf sticks and emery on
the vine-shaded porch.
"It was!" said Ellie and Annie together, and Annie added: "Rose
from Bowditch's was there, and she says she can't get away but
about once a month. She always has to wait on the children's
breakfast at eight, and then down comes the others at half-past
nine, or later, the way she never has a moment until it's too late
for High! I told her she had a right to look for another place!"
"There's worse places than this," Ellie said, watching her small
daughter begin on her waffle. A general nodding of heads in a
contented silence indicated that there was some happiness in the
Breckenridge household even though it was below stairs.
Rachael's sombre revery was presently interrupted by the smooth
crushing of wheels on the pebbled drive and the announcement of
Mrs. Haviland, who followed her name promptly into the breakfast-
room. A fine, large, beautifully gowned woman, with a prayer book
in her white-gloved hand, and a veil holding her close, handsome
spring hat in place, she glanced at the coffee and hot bread with
superiority only possible to a person whose own breakfast is
several hours past.
"Rachael, you lazy woman!" said Florence Haviland lightly,
breathing deep, as a heavy woman in tight corsets must perforce
breathe on a warm spring morning. "Do you realize that it's almost
eleven o'clock?"
"Perfectly!" Mrs. Breckenridge said. "I slept until nine, and felt
quite proud of myself to think that I had got through so much of
the day!"
Mrs. Haviland gave her a sharp look in answer, not quite
disapproving, yet far from pleased.