Because Penny was watching him and was obviously proud of her skill as a
cook--skill recently acquired, he was sure--Dundee ate as heartily as
his carefully concealed depression would permit. There was a beautifully
browned two-rib roast of beef, pan-browned potatoes, new peas,
escalloped tomatoes, and, for dessert, a gelatine pudding which Penny
proudly announced was "Spanish cream," the secret of which she had
mastered only that morning.
"I was up almost at dawn to make it, so that it would 'set' in time,"
she told him, and by the quiver of her lip Dundee knew that it was not
Spanish cream which had got her up....
"I'm going to help wash dishes," he announced firmly, and Penny, with a
quick intake of breath, agreed.
"Hadn't you better take a nap, Mother?" she added a minute later, as
Mrs. Crain, with a slight flush on her faded cheeks, began to stack the
dessert dishes. "You mustn't lay a hand on these dishes, or Bonnie and I
will have our dishwashing picnic spoiled.... Run along now. You need
sleep, dear."
"Not any more than you do, poor baby!" Mrs. Crain quavered, and then
hurried out of the room, since gentlewomen do not weep before strangers.
"I called you 'Bonnie' so Mother would know we are really friends,"
Penny explained, her cheeks red, as she preceded him through the
swinging door into the miniature kitchen.
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