gentleness. "I'll get you other things--oftener."

"It's a shame you should have this to do, Isabel. I never meant you
should cook for me. Indeed I didn't dream you cared so little about
it."

"And I never dreamed you cared so much about it," she replied, still
with repression. "I'm not complaining, am I? I'm only sorry you should
be disappointed in me."

"It's not _you,_ dear girl! You're all right! It's just this
everlasting bother. Can't you get _anybody_ that will stay?"

I can't seem to get anybody on any terms, so far. I'm going again,
to-morrow. Cheer up, dear--the baby keeps well--that's the main thing."

He sat on the rose-bowered porch and smoked while she cleared the table.
At first he had tried to help her on these occasions, but their methods
were dissimilar and she frankly told him she preferred to do it alone.

So she slipped off the silk and put on the gingham again, washed the
dishes with the labored accuracy of a trained mind doing unfamiliar
work, made the bread, redressed at last, and joined him about nine
o'clock.

"It's too late to go anywhere, I suppose?" he ventured.

"Yes--and I'm too tired. Besides--we can't leave Eddie alone."

"O yes--I forget. Of course we can't."