The man of fashion blushed as he inhaled the first smoke created by
her fire.
Rachel dropped the heavenly emblem, all burning, into the ash-bin of
the range, and resumed her work.
Louis coughed. "Any law against sitting down?" he asked.
"You're very welcome," she replied primly.
"I didn't know I might smoke," he said.
She made no answer at first, but just as Louis had ceased to expect an
answer, she said--
"I should think if you can smoke in the sitting-room you can smoke in
the kitchen--shouldn't you?"
"I should," said he.
There was silence, but silence not disagreeable. Louis, lolling in
the chair, and slightly rocking it, watched Rachel at her task. She
completely immersed spoons and forks in the warm water, and then
rubbed them with a brush like a large nail-brush, giving particular
attention to the inside edges of the prongs of the forks; and then she
laid them all wet on a thick cloth to the right of the basin. But of
the knives she immersed only the blades, and took the most meticulous
care that no drop of water should reach the handles.
"I never knew knives and forks and things were washed like that,"
observed Louis.
"They generally aren't," said Rachel.
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