irritating curiosity, the petty jealousy, the familiarity which one
not understanding would deem impertinence, with which I would have
to contend if I engaged her. But the other applicant for my work, the
grim vision who had just left, decided me. I would try this eager girl
if her terms were reasonable--and they were.

As I preceded her into the kitchen I had a sudden qualm. I knew
Dicky's fastidious taste, and that underneath all his good-natured
unconventionality he had rigid ideas of his own upon some topics. I
happened to remember that nothing made him so nervous and irritable
as bad service in a restaurant. His idea of a good waiter was a
well-trained automaton with no eyes or ears. How would he like this
enthusiastic, irrepressible girl? It was too late now, however. I was
committed to a week of her service.

I had a luxurious afternoon. Katie in the kitchen sang softly over her
work some minor-cadenced Polish folk-song, and I nestled deep in
an armchair by the sunniest window, dipped deep into the pages of
magazines and newspapers which I had not read. I realized with a
start that I was out of touch with the doings of the outside world,
something which had not happened to me before for years, save in the
few awful days of my mother's last illness. I really must catch up
again.

I was so deep in a vivid description of the desolation in Belgium that
I did not hear Dicky enter. I started as he kissed me.

"Headache better, sweetheart?" he added, lover-like remembering
and making much of the slight headache I had had when he left that
morning. "It must be, or you wouldn't be able to read that horror." He