else?"

She continued smiling.

"I don't propose anything," she said. "It's not in my hands."

Under the calming influence of the fish curry, Robert remained still
placid.

"He's a first-rate cook anyhow," he said. "Can't you engage him as
that? Call to the kitchen, you know."

"Darling!" said Mrs Quantock, sending out more love. But she had a
quick temper, and indeed the two were outpoured together, like hot and
cold taps turned on in a bath. The pellucid stream of love served to
keep her temper moderately cool.

"Well, ask him," suggested Mr Quantock, "as you say, you never can tell
where a Guru may be called. Give him forty pounds a year and beer
money."

"Beer!" began Mrs Quantock, when she suddenly remembered Georgie's
story about Rush and the Guru and the brandy-bottle, and stopped.

"Yes, dear, I said 'beer,'" remarked Robert a little irritably, "and in
any case I insist that you dismiss your present cook. You only took her
because she was a Christian Scientist, and you've left that little
sheep-fold now. You used to talk about false claims I remember. Well
her claim to be a cook is the falsest I ever heard of. I'd sooner take
my chance with an itinerant organ grinder. But that fish-curry tonight