Mary Augusta Ward

Missing Mary Augusta Ward

'Shall I set the tea, Miss?'Miss Cookson turned from the window.'Yes-bring it up-except the tea of course-they ought to be here at any time.''And Mrs. Weston wants to know what time supper's to be?'The fair-haired girl speaking was clearly north-country. She pronounced the 'u' in 'supper, ' as though it were the German 'u' in Suppe. Miss Cookson shrugged her shoulders.'Well, they'll settle that.'The tone was sharp and off-hand. And the maid-servant, as she went downstairs, decided for the twentieth time that afternoon, that she didn't like Miss Cookson, and she hoped her sister, Mrs. Sarratt, would be nicer. Miss Cookson had been poking her nose into everything that afternoon, fiddling with the rooms and furniture, and interfering with Mrs. Weston. As if Mrs. Weston didn't know what to order for lodgers, and how to make them comfortable! As if she hadn't had dozens of brides and bridegrooms to look after before this!-and if she hadn't given them all satisfaction, would they ever have sent her all them picture-postcards which decorated her little parlour downstairs