"But what is your name?" The question fell from Mrs. Salisbury as
naturally as an "Ouch!" would have fallen had somebody dropped a
lighted match on her hand. "I had no idea of that!" she went on
artlessly. "But I suppose you told Mr. Salisbury?"

The luncheon was finished, and now Justine stood up, and picked up
the tray.

"No. That's the very point. We use our college names," she
reiterated simply. "Will you let me bring you up a little more
custard, Madam?"

"No, thank you," Mrs. Salisbury said, after a second's pause. She
looked a little thoughtful as Justine walked away. There is no real
reason why one's maid should not wear an assumed name, of course.
Still--

"What a ridiculous thing that college must be!" said Mrs. Salisbury,
turning comfortably in her pillows. "But she certainly is a splendid
cook!"

About this point, at least, there was no argument. Justine did not
need cream or sherry, chopped nuts or mushroom sauces to make simple
food delicious. She knew endless ways in which to serve food;
potatoes became a nightly surprise, macaroni was never the same,
rice had a dozen delightful roles. Because the family enjoyed her
maple custard or almond cake, she did not, as is the habit with
cooks, abandon every other flavoring for maple or almond. She was
following a broader schedule than that supplied by the personal