for awhile, the girl Inglett cooked for us; she was not brought up to it, had never passed through her apprenticeship as kitchen-maid, but some women take to cooking as poets take to verses—naturally."
"That is true," said Mrs. Cribbage. Her mouth was gradually falling at the corners. She had expected to fish up a very queer and unpleasant bit of scandal, and, to her disappointment, began to see that she had spooned up clean water in her beak.
"Mrs. Welsh, seeing her abilities, may have advised the girl Inglett to take a kitchen-maid's place—I cannot say. Has she applied to you for such a situation in your house, ma'am? If so, I am sure Mrs. Welsh can confidently recommend her."
"We thought," said Mrs. Cribbage, in a tone of discouragement, "that is to say, Mrs. Tubb said most positively that—that the Honourable Arminell Inglett, daughter of Lord Lamerton, was not dead, but was lodging with you. And you really had a servant of the name of Inglett?"
"Certainly, a general, as I said—and now you mention it, it does seem queer that she should have had such an aristocratic name, but I daresay she assumed it, as actresses do."
"I was led by Marianne Tubb to suppose——"
"Was not that like Marianne!" Mr. Welsh went into a fit of laughter. Mrs. Cribbage, with a ghastly smile, admitted that it was like Marianne Tubb, who was certainly given to boasting and romancing. However, she added, charitably—
"Really, it almost seems a judgment on her."
"What does?"
"The stroke. It was too bad of her to make us suppose that the Honourable Arminell Inglett had come to live in such a quarter as this. Then you really believe, Mr. Welsh,
