Part 23 (1/2)

He proceeded to explain elaborately what the words meant, and then asked her if she had remembered her previous lesson.

”Yes; ain't you--goin'--”

”Stop right there. Your next word to be eliminated is 'ain't.' You must say 'aren't' or 'isn't.' And you must remember to put 'g' on the end of every word ending in 'ing.' Don't let me hear you say 'goin', again, I'll teach you one new word every day now. You see the measure of a maid is her pure English.”

Amarilly looked distressed.

”What's the matter, Amarilly? Don't you want to learn to speak properly?”

”Yes, I do, Mr. Derry; but Miss King--she don't want me to speak diff'rent. She likes to hear me talk ignorant, and she said she was afeard you'd make me brom--”

”Brom?” he repeated.

”There was some more to it, but I fergit.”

”Bromidic,” he said triumphantly, after an instant's pondering. ”You can never under any circ.u.mstances be that, and I shall develop your imagination and artistic temperament at the same time. Miss King is selfish to wish to keep you from cultivating yourself for the purpose of furnis.h.i.+ng her entertainment. By the way, I am to meet her to-night at a dinner, and I think we shall have a mutual subject for conversation. I must get to work, now. Clear away the dishes. And finish the rest of this toast and coffee. It would be wicked to waste it.”

Amarilly subst.i.tuted a work ap.r.o.n for the little white covering, and was soon engaged in ”redding.”

At eleven o'clock the place was in perfect order, and she went into the studio where Deny was at work.

”Shall I go get the things fer lunch?”

”Luncheon, if you please, Amarilly. I like that word better. It seems to mean daintier things. Here's a five-dollar bill. Get what you consider proper for a simple little home luncheon, you know. Nothing elaborate.”

Amarilly, feeling but not betraying her utter inability to construct the menu for a ”simple little home luncheon,” walked despondently down the street.

”The Boarder,” she reflected, ”takes bread and meat and hard biled eggs when they ain't--aren't too high, and pie when we hev it.”

Some vague instinct of the fitness of things warned her that this would not be a suitable repast for Derry. Then a light shone through her darkness.

”I'll telephone Miss Vail,” she decided.

So she called up her teacher at the Guild, and explained the situation.

She received full instructions, made her purchases, and went back to the studio.

At one o'clock she again garbed herself in cap and ap.r.o.n and called Derry to a luncheon which consisted of bouillon, chops, French peas, rolls, a salad, and black tea served with lemon.

”Amarilly,” he announced solemnly, ”you are surely the reincarnation of a chef. You are immediately promoted from housemaid to housekeeper with full charge over my cuisine, and your wages doubled.”

”And that's going some for one day!” Amarilly gleefully announced to the family circle that night.

Her teacher, greatly interested and gratified at her pupil's ability to put her instruction to practical use and profit, made out on each Monday a menu for the entire week. She also gave her special coaching in setting table and serving, so Derry's domestic life became a thing of pride to himself and his coterie of artists. He gave little luncheons and studio teas in his apartments, Amarilly achieving great success in her double role of cook and waitress.

Her work was not only profitable financially, but it developed new tastes and tendencies. Every day there was the new word eagerly grasped and faithfully remembered. ”Fer,” ”set,” ”spile,” ”orter,” and the like were gradually entirely eliminated from her vocabulary. Unconsciously she acquired ”atmosphere” from her environment. In her spare moments Amarilly read aloud to Derry, while he painted, he choosing the book at random from his library.

”I want to use you for a model this afternoon,” he remarked one day as she was about to depart. ”Braid your hair just as tight as you can, the way you had it the first day you came. Put on your high-necked, long- sleeved ap.r.o.n, and get it wet and soapy as it was that first day, and then come back to the studio with your scrubbing brush and pail.”

Amarilly did as she was bidden with a reluctance which the artist, absorbed in his preparations for work, did not notice.