THE BEST SAUCE


Eve Hendrie sat up in bed. For two hours she had been trying to get to
sleep, but without success. Never in her life had she felt more
wakeful.

There were two reasons for this. Her mind was disturbed, and she was
very hungry. Neither sensation was novel to her. Since first she had
become paid companion to Mrs. Rastall-Retford there had hardly been a
moment when she had not been hungry. Some time before Mrs.
Rastall-Retford's doctor had recommended to that lady a Spartan diet,
and in this Eve, as companion, had unwillingly to share. It was not
pleasant for either of them, but at least Mrs. Rastall-Retford had the
knowledge that she had earned it by years of honest self-indulgence.
Eve had not that consolation.

Meagre fare, moreover, had the effect of accentuating Mrs.
Rastall-Retford's always rather pronounced irritability. She was a
massive lady, with a prominent forehead, some half-dozen chins, and a
manner towards those in her employment which would have been resented
in a second mate by the crew of a Western ocean tramp. Even at her best
she was no ray of sunshine about the house. And since the beginning of
the self-denying ordinance she had been at her worst.

But it was not depression induced by her employer that was disturbing
Eve. That was a permanent evil. What was agitating her so extremely
to-night was the unexpected arrival of Peter Rayner.