"Can't you cook a little? I could teach you my ways."

"I don't know the least thing about cooking. I never cooked a thing in my
life."

"What a pity! What was your mother thinking about? Every girl ought to be
brought up to know a little about cooking, even if she does have some
other employment."

"My mother has been dead a good many years." The tears brimmed over now,
but the girl tried to smile. "I could help you with your dinner party,"
she went on. "That is, I know all about setting the tables and arranging
the flowers and favors. I could paint the place-cards, too--I've done it
many a time. And I could wait on the table. But I couldn't cook even an
oyster."

"Oh, place-cards!" said the little woman, her eyes brightening. She caught
at the word as though she had descried a new star in the firmament. "I
wish I could have them. They cost so much to buy. I might have my
washerwoman come and help with the cooking. She cooks pretty well, and I
could help her beforehand, but she couldn't wait on table, to save her
life. I wonder if you know much about menus. Could you help me fix out the
courses and say what you think I ought to have, or don't you know about
that? You see, I have this very particular company coming, and I want to
have things nice. I don't know them very well. My husband has business
relations with them and wants them invited, and of all times for Betty to
leave this was the worst!" She had unconsciously fallen into a tone of
equality with the strange girl.