Mrs. Marston's drowsiness forsook her. Hazel became conscious for
tension.

'Mother!'--Edward's voice shook with suppressed laughter, although he was
indignant with Hazel's father for such a mistaken upbringing--'mother,
would you give Hazel the receipt for this splendid cake?'

'And welcome, my dear.' The old lady was safely launched on her
favourite topic. 'And if you'd like a seed-cake as well, you shall have
it. Have you put down any butter yet?'

Hazel never put down or preserved or made anything. Her most ambitious
cooking was a rasher and a saucepan of potatoes.

'I dunna know what you mean,' she said awkwardly.

Edward was disappointed. He had thought her such a paragon. 'Well,
well, cooking was, after all, a secondary thing. Let it go.'

'You mean to say you don't know what putting down butter is, my poor
child? But perhaps you go in for higher branches? Lemon-curd, now, and
bottled fruit. I'm sure you can do those?'

Hazel felt blank. She thought it best to have things clear.

'I canna do naught,' she said defiantly.

'Now, mother'--Edward came to the rescue again--'see how right you are
in saying that a girl's education is not what it used to be! See how
Hazel's has been neglected! Think what a lot you could teach her!